


The Language of Love

by Synonym_Roll



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton Being an Asshole, Alexander and John are Best Friends, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety Attacks, Bad French, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Enemies to Lovers, Fantasizing, Gay John Laurens, Genderqueer Character, Genderqueer Marquis de Lafayette, Hamilsquad, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, Idiots in Love, Language Kink, M/M, Matchmaking, Misunderstandings, Multi, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Polyamory, Sexual Fantasy, Slow Burn, Thomas Jefferson Being an Asshole, Thomas Jefferson and the Marquis de Lafayette are Twins, Thomas Jefferson has anxiety, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 14:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11488059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synonym_Roll/pseuds/Synonym_Roll
Summary: Despite having been close friends with the French-speaking Lafayette for over a year, Alexander Hamilton had never had more than a passing interest in other's native language until he met Lafayette's brother, Thomas. It was stupid, really. The two had the same stature, the same face, the same hair, the same basic views. The only real differences were their personalities, tastes in style, and their accents.However, after a night on the town, Alexander learns that Thomas tends to lean toward French when drunk- and then, he can't seem to shake his fascination. He wants to learn everything. He begs Lafayette to teach him, and his friend agrees.Unfortunately for Hamilton, Lafayette has their own agenda.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I'll probably end up setting up a huge AU for (There's so much background to be filled in), but for now, suffice it to say that Thomas and Lafayette were twins, raised separately when their parents divorced, reunited only in recent years. They both speak French very fluently. I'll add tags as I go. 
> 
> Is the title cheesy as hell? Yes. Do I care? Hmm. Good Question.
> 
> French translations have been provided by the wonderful Chysack! Send 'em some love!
> 
> Forgive my mistakes, as I do not have a Beta. Constructive criticism is more than welcome!  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing!

It was the stupidest thing, truly, and Alexander knew that, but he couldn't quite help himself. He wanted to learn French. Yes, French, of all things. Even _he_ thought it was ridiculous. Despite having been close friends with the French-speaking Lafayette for over a year, Alexander Hamilton had never had more than a passing interest in the their native language until he met Lafayette's brother, Thomas Jefferson. And, as though someone had flipped a switch, his interest was peaked. It was stupid, really. So incredibly, irredeemably stupid that even he didn't understand it. Attraction. It couldn't just be physical. The siblings had the same stature, the same face, the same hair, the same basic views. The only real differences were their personalities, tastes in style, and their accents.

Alex knew they'd been raised separately, both of them born in France, but only Lafayette remaining there for most of their lives. In fact, Jefferson had such a thick Southern drawl that Alexander would have assumed any attempt at speaking another language would have been mangled beyond belief. He could not have been more wrong. 

* * *

They'd been drinking, celebrating the anniversary of the triad: Lafayette, John, and Hercules. Jefferson had joined them, which was extremely rare. He hadn't been in New York long, but he seemed to have settled in nicely and preferred to find his own way about rather than be shown the ropes by his sibling and their friends, and he always acted strangely when he did keep their company, as though he’d rather be anywhere else, much to Alexander's irritation. Jefferson’s friend James had come along as well, and in spite of initial misgivings, everyone managed to be civil for once. They kept the beer flowing, the jokes going. It was a nice evening, all things considered. Laf and Laurens were getting more and more affectionate as the night wore on, hardly an unusual thing, and the others watched on in fondness, laughing when said affection was turned on any of them. Then Lafayette's English started to fail them. Normally, Alex would have just laughed. That's what he always did, laughed and waited for John's shaky translation.

And so, he was entirely unprepared for the immediate response Lafayette was granted, in a voice that was just as silken as their own, if just a little deeper, just a little richer. Alex could feel his face flush as his eyes snapped to Jefferson, his mouth dropping open. He gawked, to put it simply. God, what had been said? He wasn't sure he even cared, but the sound of it, like pure sin... Alexander must have stared like that for several moments before Hercules laid a hand on his arm and gave him an inquisitive look. He shook himself out of his daze, but he saw Jefferson shoot a smirk in his direction. His cheeks felt painfully red. 

* * *

Ever since that night, he couldn't get the sound of Jefferson's voice out of his head. The way the words rolled off his tongue like honey, the way he gave voice to each syllable like music. He wanted to have those words directed at him, any words directed at him in that language, as long as Jefferson spoke them. But he wanted to understand it, too, and that was not within his capacity as of yet.

He couldn't help but want to learn the language after that. At first, he tried books, apps, and videos. It didn't work. Then he registered for an online class. That most definitely wasn't his speed. It was a blow to his ego, and he reluctantly accepted that there was no way for him to learn on his own. He'd always been a more hands-on individual and he knew the only way he'd ever get a grasp on the language was if he had a tutor. The very word made him cringe. And as much as his pulse raced at the idea of Jefferson tutoring him, he knew it would not, could not, happen. Absolutely not. The man could barely stand him, and ever since the triad's anniversary, it had only gotten worse, their bickering escalating to an all time high.

Alexander sighed heavily. There was only one other fluent person he knew, and he really didn't have much of a choice if he wanted to learn. 

* * *

It was with great reluctance that Alex left his shared apartment to seek out his friend's help, but with a near Herculean effort, he managed to find the motivation. He checked the bakery where they worked first, but John told him it was Laffayette's day off, looking as though he were quite put out by that fact. Alex knew they didn't have classes on Wednesday, which meant they were likely at home. However, that also meant that there was a great likelihood that Alex was going to walk right into a mess, and that made securing help difficult. _Oh well,_ he thought. _You win some, you lose some._

It was this line of thinking that left Alexander surprised at the promptness with which Lafayette opened the door after he knocked. "Hey, Laf!" He greeted, immediately noting the bit of makeup- just eyeliner and some highlighter, not unusual, but not an every day look for them either. He also took in the outfit his friend was wearing, a pair of clinging grey pants with a blue mock-neck shirt and an unbuttoned vest. It looked a little too nice for standard fare, even for Lafayette. "Um, sorry to come over unannounced. Am I interrupting something? Were you two about to head out?"

Lafayette only laughed and ushered him inside. "Not at all, _mon ami_ ! Only an impromptu fashion show, no? Hercules is seeking inspiration for his newest class project, and who is always the best for that?" They smiled, waving a hand in the air. " _C'est moi_!"

A small laugh came from their couch, where Herc sat with his sketch book, and Alex echoed it. "I dunno," the other man countered, a teasing grin on his face. "Much as he protests about changin' outfits, at least John doesn't have to refresh his makeup to match the different looks."

An affronted gasp escaped Lafayette and they clutched at their chest, looking to Alex, as though they needed someone to defend their good name. " _Alexandre_ , can you believe he says such things?  Here I try so hard to be his perfect muse, and he says that _mon nounours_ is better! The things I do, Alex, the time I've sacrificed. _Le prix d’Amour!_ " They picked up a scarf that had been strewn carelessly over the back of one of their chairs and held it to their forehead, looking for all the world like a maiden beside herself with grief and heartache.

"Drama queen," Hercules snorted, but he was smiling, and Alex could see the corners of Lafayette's mouth twitching. He shook his head. God, these people. Why were they friends again? Hercules set his sketchbook to the side, rolling his eyes. "In your defense, though, I think John would stab his eyes out if he even attempted half the things you manage with those makeup brushes."

Lafayette peeked out from behind the scarf, narrowing their eyes dangerously at their boyfriend. "Is that a compliment or an insult, Mulligan?"

"A compliment, of course," the broad man replied smoothly, aiming a smile at Alexander. "Even Alex knows your skills with a palette are undeniable, and he has no sense of style."

At this, Alexander only rolled his eyes. "Just because I'm not a damn art major," he grumbled, but they were looking at him expectantly. He frowned, then nodded. "He's right. John would look like he got gang-banged by a bunch of Crayola markers if he tried what you do. You make it look... effortless."

They seemed to melt at the praise, and Alex could only be grateful that he'd had the opportunity to butter them up. Lafayette immediately trotted across the room to Hercules and draped themselves across the man's lap, tying the scarf around their lover's neck. "Well, I suppose you are forgiven, _mon petit chou_ , but if you tell our Alexander such horrible things again, I daresay I shall not be your model any longer. You'll have to replace me with our _Jean_ permanently." They settled in against Hercules as they spoke, resting their chin atop the shorter man's head and nuzzling like an affectionate cat. They both knew it was an idle threat. A soft smile graced Lafayette's lips as they felt a kiss press into their neck. They turned back to Alexander at last, who was rolling his eyes at their antics and was making himself comfortable in a dining chair. "So, Alexander, what brings you by? We did not have plans, did we, _mon ami_?"

Alex shifted uncomfortably. "Not... no, we didn't," he answered, suddenly apprehensive. But he'd never been one to hold back from asking for what he wanted, so he took a deep breath and went for it. "Look, Laf, I need a sort of-- favor. Or, well, I suppose we could work out an arrangement, depending on the terms, and what you'd want. I'm not asking for much, it's just a little odd, and-"

If Lafayette and Mulligan had been confused before, they were absolutely befuddled as they waited for him to continue. "And what, Alex?" Hercules prompted gently.

Embarrassment coloured Alexander’s cheeks and he cleared his throat, wishing now that he’d taken his roommate up on his proposal of a Marvel marathon instead of coming here. "Like I said, it's a little odd, but... I want you to teach me French. I've tried the classes, books, videos, apps, and nothing is working, so I assumed a living, breathing person would do me well, and you're my best option. So, what do you say?" Alexander looked at his friends hopefully.

There was silence as both his friends stared at him, blinking slowly, looking blank. Alex hung his head, frowning deeply. Fucking hell, he’d known it was a dumb idea, but--

But then there was a frantic whisper from Lafayette and a heavy sigh from Hercules. Alexander looked back at them, confused. Surprising him for the second time that day, Lafayette grinned gleefully whilst Herc hung his head and muttered, "Sweet Jesus." Before Alex could ask, though, Lafayette was up and was dragging him out of his chair, chattering a mile a minute about "Lesson number one!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex is slowly but surely picking up the language. Meanwhile, Madison is done with Jefferson's pining. After a confrontation between the two, Alexander's frustrations are at an all time high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning-ish for Alexander's pining and fantasizing. And also TJeff's pining. Dumb babies.
> 
> Also, I've updated the tags, take a look! I've decided that I will be elaborating on this as a series later with various characters/ships, so I'll build on some of what I mention in this story, and this chapter specifically (eventually)!
> 
> French translations have been provided by the wonderful Chysack! Send 'em some love!

"Well, you're not entirely hopeless."

For three weeks, that was the only update of progress that Lafayette was willing to give Alexander. "Well, you're not entirely hopeless." No criticism, no praise, only that repeated line after every lesson, of which there were many. After class, during their shifts, at the bar, any time they hung out. They'd barely covered any ground, only a few simple words that Lafayette would say, have Alex repeat, then explain. He had a list he had to memorize, a context in which each word was to be used. Lafayette seemed to be going off of basic human learning structure as well, which was, admittedly, helpful: They started with things like _'Me, you, I, us. Hair, head, face, eyes.'_ Basics. And after every lesson, when Alex would wait to hear Lafayette's verdict, they would pause, purse their full lips, give Alex a thoughtful once over and say, "Well, you're not entirely hopeless." Alexander was probably going to kill them. He felt his eye twitch.

"What the hell does that even mean?" He finally snapped one afternoon, frustrated beyond belief. "What kind of constructive criticism is that?" How was he supposed to know what he was doing right and what he was doing wrong and what kind of progress he was making if he just 'wasn't entirely hopeless'?! Maybe it shouldn't matter so much, but after having dedicated himself to the task of learning French, Alex was determined to see it through. He wanted to at least sound decent as he went, not mess up the simple shit. He felt like a toddler. He needed more than not hopeless.

Lafayette simply laughed, setting their coffee mug down on the table in front of themselves. "Alright, _mon ami_ , you want more than that?” There was challenge in their voice, and immediately, Alexander’s anger began to fade. “You are a fast learner, and at least your pronunciation is not so poor as that of _mon nounours_."

From the kitchenette came John's muffled cry of _"Hey, bastard!"_ accompanied by the crashing of something metal and the slamming of an oven door. They both snickered at his expense.

With a fond shake of their head, Lafayette continued,"If you want honesty, Alex, you have a knack for languages. You are learning well." Alexander gave a relieved smile at the praise. This was the kind of feedback he'd been needing the entire time! Honestly… But, Lafayette wasn't finished. "We need to work on your inflections, but I think we should probably move away from individual words and on to phrases. You have a good enough grasp for this. However, I admit..." Their brow furrowed just slightly, and their eyes raked over Alexander, searching.

Alex didn't like that look. "What?" He asked, resisting the urge to cover up or hide from his friend’s knowing gaze.

Lafayette pursed their lips and Alex's frown deepened. "Why are you so driven to learn French now, and why so fast, Alexander?"

It was a perfectly logical, perfectly reasonable question for a tutor to ask their student, but Alexander felt himself grow defensive. Probably because of the answer. _I think your brother is hot when he says things in French and I want to surprise him by being able to speak it too. I want him to look at me with something other than that haughty disdain, like I’m more than just dirt on his shoes. I want to understand what the hell it is he says to you and Madison when he's drunk, when he smiles that slow, lazy smile and looks like he doesn’t actually hate being where he is. I only want to speak French so your twin will speak French back at me._ Was that creepy or fucking pathetic? Both? Both was probably right. He didn't want to acknowledge that he was blushing, but he probably was. Definitely was, he could feel the heat in his face. "I just thought I'd pick it up, since we'll be done with school before long and I have a little more time on my hands now," he mumbled, not meeting Lafayette’s eyes. God, he was such a liar.

His friend smiled at him in a way that suggested they knew it was a lie, but said nothing, distracted from their subject matter when one of their boyfriends rejoined their group with freshly-baked turnovers. As the two lovers squabbled over whether Lafayette's earlier comment had cost them their snacking rights, Alex let his mind meander a bit, retracing his earlier thoughts, examining his motivations more thoroughly.

Was he an idiot for doing this? _Probably_. What were the chances that it would do him any good? Sure, he could surprise Jefferson for a moment, maybe even garner a brief spark of interest, but that would spark would only fan into a flame of contempt toward Alexander's plebeian bid for attention. He grimaced at the thought, imagining the argument that would follow. No doubt there would be rapid fire words that he couldn't keep up with in a language he could scarcely grasp the basics of, and Jefferson would insult his intelligence, call him an idiot for thinking he could show off to a man who was, by technicality, a French citizen. It would be a disaster, it would-!

Suddenly, a delicious smell pulled him from his thoughts. Alexander blinked, almost alarmed to find John's plate of turnovers right below his nose while his best friend smiled gently at him, tucking a stray curl behind his ear as he continued to offer the pastries. For a moment, Alex got caught up in that smile.

John had always had the kindest smile, soft lips curving upward in happy invitation. His eyes were the color of raw honey, and just as rich, containing multitudes of colors and ideas and heartbreaks and triumphs. He was beautiful in a gentle way, a way that didn't make people afraid to approach, beautiful inside and out. He was warm, welcoming, calming, though he hadn’t always been that way. He was softer now. Everything about him was open, and he was the kind of person you liked or trusted without even realizing it, without even meaning to. It was no wonder Lafayette and Hercules were so damned in love with him. Hell, even Alex had asked him out a few times, had hoped it would go somewhere. It was his own fault it hadn't. He was grateful for that now, though. John was so, so happy with the two idiots he loved, and Alex was happy to see him happy.

Alexander took a raspberry turnover with a small nod of thanks, only to be met by Lafayette's groan from the couch, where they'd curled themselves into a sullen ball. They looked at Alex's treat with envious eyes, and groaned again. "Why does he get to have one of your turnovers whilst I cannot, John _?_ It is not fair!"

John placed one hand on his hip and turned to face his lover, glaring haughtily. "Maybe because Alex waited patiently for his, and because he loves me enough not to insult my language skills, Gilbert," he growled. Alex snickered at the use of Laf's given name and stuck his tongue out at the sulking individual, taking a bite of his pastry to spite them. And promptly moaned. _God, they were good._

"Oh, you're missing out, _Gilbert,_ " he said, and John gave a sharp nod. "This is the best damn thing I've eaten all week." He took another bite, then stood and wrapped an arm around John's waist, making as though to pick him up. A huff of laughter escaped the taller man in response. "John, baby, I'm stealing you. Come on, pack your bags, all you have to do is cook for me. I'll never insult your grammar or make you pay rent or anything."

 _"S'il vous plaît, mon amour!"_  Lafayette said, pleading, obviously fighting a smile. "You cannot expect to deny me so much for such small.... honesty..." They cringed. "You are getting better, but your French is still very... halting, _mon Jean_."

John swatted away Alexander's hand, an absolute glower on his face replacing any humor that had dwelled there before. "Funny that you should say that, Gilbert. Real funny," he drawled. His accent was now starting to peek through, and Alex leaned forward, eyes widening in interest. That only happened when he was drunk, or... "I know my casual French ain't the best there is, but I only learned any so that someone could understand what the hell it is you were spouting 'tween the sheets."

Lafayette's ears went red as Alexander howled his disbelief and John stood there looking ridiculously smug. "I... suppose you may have a small point there, _mon amour_ ," came the bashful reply, somewhat apologetic. John only huffed, handing Alex two more turnovers and dropping one down on Lafayette's lap before returning to the kitchen to hide them.

After a moment, Alex's laughter died down, and Lafayette cleared their throat. "All right. So, moving on to basic phrases..." 

* * *

Thomas officially fucking hated his comparative politics class. It was an irrelevant subject, unnecessary for his major, the professor was a moron, and the worst part? Hamilton took the class. For fun. For an extra credit. All he did was start arguments with the lecturer and waste time, resulting in the lesson dragging out even longer than was originally necessary. It was enough to make Thomas want to scream. He'd contacted the student aide office immediately upon realizing the situation, and they had agreed that the class wan't mandatory for him. So he didn't understand why he was stuck in that lecture hall for two hours every Saturday, listening to an idiot drone on and on about nothing while Hamilton tried to bait the old man. He could have just dropped the class, but...

He let out a groan, scrubbing his hand tiredly over his eyes as he heard the lecturer raise his voice at Hamilton, causing Thomas’s own stress-levels to spike. "Fucking cretin," he breathed. Why? Every fucking day? Why did he think he had to prove everyone wrong, argue with everyone? He may have actually been somewhat attractive, somewhat tolerable, if it weren't for the inflated ego that filled his head with hot air.

Beside him, his friend James shifted, and chuckled. "You may as well put your book away," he murmured. "This one is going to last, and I know that ain't neither of us gonna linger for the finale." He was subtly closing his spiral, setting aside his pens. Thomas sighed again in response, casting his eyes back toward Hamilton.

"Every fucking day," he said, voicing his thoughts. "And I don't understand. Does he just get off on arguing with old men who can't do much more than that?" James stifled a laugh with a cough, and Thomas smiled.

Unfortunately, though, James' fake cough very quickly turned into a real one. He had too many respiratory issues, it worried Thomas. And irked Hamilton, apparently. When James had recovered, the two of them looked up to find Hamilton glaring in their direction. "Madison, don't you own an inhaler?" He bit out. "And Jefferson, your obnoxious accent often carries. Did you have something to add to this debate?"

He blatantly ignored their instructors cries of, " _Debate?_ This is no debate, it is insubordination!"

Thomas knew he shouldn’t rise to the bait, he really did, but as was so often the case, his mounting frustration drowned out all rational thought. There was just something about Hamilton that enraged him, infuriated him, and forced his usual anxiety to take a back seat for a while. Thomas narrowed his eyes at Hamilton, closing his notebook and carefully stowing it in his bag. "Actually, I do," he said.

"Oh, God," bemoaned the instructor, going unheard.

"You are an argumentative, overcompensating pest, Hamilton," He began, speaking the words as though he were commenting on the weather. "Now, I have no love for this subject, but it annoys me to no end that I come in to hear one idiot speak-"

 _"Excuse me?!"_ From the professor.

"-and am instead forced to listen to the ramblings of a loud-mouthed bastard who craves acknowledgement for every breath you take because, apparently, someone didn't pay enough attention to you as a kid. I have better things to do with my time than sit in a lecture hall and watch you get off on fighting with an old man. And furthermore? Most of the points you make, while valid, are rudimentary at best, and could easily be addressed in your papers and essays professionally, instead of during the class itself." He bared his teeth in a vicious mockery of a smile. "So if you'll excuse me, I've got much better places to be than this." He picked up his things and left the hall, Madison at his side.

Before they were completely off the sidewalk, though, Thomas could hear the patter of feet hurrying after them. "Oh, good Lord, here we go," James grumbled. They turned to face Hamilton, who was striding toward them, red-faced and looking like a puffed-up cat.

"How dare you?" He asked, his voice dangerously low. "Every point I make in that class, I make because half of the idiots in there could never see past their own naivety long enough to consider that their instructor might be _instructing_ them incorrectly. What good does it do to pay for an education if the education one receives is flawed and incomplete, and possibly deliberately so because the professor is a bigoted airhead!? Maybe if you had any balls, you would have done a similar thing, Jefferson." He strode forward purposefully, until he was pressing his finger into Jefferson's chest. "And furthermore," he said, imitating Thomas's tone from before. "Don't you _dare_ bring up my childhood. You no nothing about my raising, and it’s none of your business, so don't you dare to infer. I'm not the one whose mother decided to kick them across the ocean and keep the better sibling!"

Then he stormed away and left both Jefferson and Madison gaping at his retreating form.

After a long moment, James said, "If you meant to get his attention, you certainly got it."

Thomas blinked in response, still reeling. Of course he knew that none of what Hamilton said was true: his mother loved him very much, fought bitterly for him to stay with her, cried every time they parted. But the fact that he said it left Thomas speechless, nerves feeling raw, like all his insecurities had been stripped down and laid bare. He supposed it was his own fault for bringing up Hamilton's childhood first, although he hadn't known it was such a sore spot for him. Still...

Not at all paying attention to his friend, Thomas responded with a "Huh?"

James rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't play dumb, Thomas. I'm your best friend, if anyone would see it, it would be me."

Okay, now James had his attention. "Jemmy, I love you, but what in the hell are you talkin' about?"

A glare was tossed his way. "All of this, Thomas. You stare at him constantly, you do nothing but rant about him, you poke and prod at him until he's forced to pay attention to you. It's ridiculous. You're a step away from pulling his pigtails!"

Thomas bristled, wanting to deny it, but- but, he couldn't. Hamilton was so damned interesting. Infuriating, but interesting. He was intelligent on a completely different level than most of the people Thomas knew, unafraid to match wit with anyone, able to outsmart the best of them. He consumed knowledge like it was oxygen and churned it out just as fast, producing beautiful lines of writing that he left littered about in ink and on paper and on his own person for all the world to see. It was fascinating. And he was beautiful too. Tired eyes, old eyes that said he'd seen too much, that he understood more than most souls were capable of understanding. Lips that smiled even when he was sad or angry. His hair was always in the way, no matter how he tried to tie it back, framing his face just right. His stature was slight, his bone structure small but sturdy. Beautiful. If only he weren't so damned enraging. But then, Thomas probably wouldn't want him if he weren't.

If Hamilton weren’t so frustrating, Thomas probably wouldn’t be able to speak his mind so easily, to fight and debate and rant and rave. Hamilton helped to fuel a part of Thomas that was usually overshadowed by the crippling power of his anxiety, he helped that part come to the fore and rule for a while. It was freeing, in a sense. He craved more of it, couldn’t deny that. But with James looking at him so knowingly, so expectantly, Thomas felt the absurd need to hide from his best friend, nervousness nipping violently at him until he shrugged and forced himself to stop contemplating just how badly he wanted Hamilton.

"He'd look awful with pigtails, for one, and for two, I'm not quite that petty. And either way, he hates me, so hot or not, I'm not gonna touch it," he dismissed. James gave him a disbelieving look, and Thomas shifting, crossing his arms defensively. "Hey, I'm not! Besides, he's just too damn extra for me."

James snorted. "Says the man with the magenta skinny jeans on! You're the king of extra. Just ask him out, or have hate sex, please. I can't stand this shit. I actually need these lectures." 

* * *

It had been a long fucking day and Alexander just wanted to relax, but his brain wouldn't stop working, wouldn’t stop thinking. _You shouldn't have said those things,_ it scolded, _You, of all people. And to him! When you're trying so hard to impress him? Idiot. No wonder he thinks you're a fuck up!_ Alex felt like screaming, but even though his room mate was out, it was likely the other residents of the complex wouldn't appreciate the noise. He settled instead for letting his forehead thunk against the shower wall, raising it, and dropping it again. God, what did he do? He didn't want to fight with Thomas, not at all, but he couldn't seem to keep it from happening.

God, there were so many things he’d rather do than fight Jefferson. He disagreed with the other man frequently, sure, but he could see that Jefferson was a smart man. Alexander wondered what it would be like to have an actual conversation with him that didn’t devolve into insults and petty squabbling. He knew Thomas played the violin, and wondered what it would be like to hear him play. He wanted to hear Thomas play, hear him speak, just listen to him breathe. He wanted to know what it would be like to have Thomas pull him close and let the communication between them stay purely physical.

Though he didn't consciously conjure them, Alexander imagined that he felt warm arms slipping around his waist, lips pressing to his neck, and he sighed. "You're not real." But he didn't shove the image away. The ghost his mind had called up to comfort him only laughed- as the real Thomas would probably do. Laugh at his misery.

"Darlin', you can't be beating yourself up over this afternoon, now can ya?" The image crooned, a hollow projection of Thomas's rich drawl, though it still sent shivers down Alexander’s spine. "You know you didn't mean it, I know you didn't. Let's move on, now, hmm?" Warm fingers trailed down his stomach as the water beat down on his back where Thomas's body should have been. "Focus on me," the voice snapped.

Shameful arousal spread through Alexander as his fantasy became more vivid. He'd always had quite the imagination, and it served him well now, as Thomas caressed his thighs and kissed his neck and murmured into his ear. It was so real, he was almost shaking with desire. " _Chéri_ , if you want me, all you gotta do is ask. Just do somethin' smart for once and ask for what you want, hmm?" That smug snicker echoed in his ears, and he moaned softly, wondering if the real Thomas would laugh at him in bed like that, or if he would be kinder.

He twitched when a calloused hand - _wrong size, wrong shape, wrong callouses, but imagine_ \- finally took hold of him. He was given one stroke, another gentle slide, a final, feather-light brush. He whimpered. "I said to ask for what you want, _mon trésor_ ," huffed his fantasy, seemingly put out. "Why is it that you can run your mouth all day long, but the moment I tell you to ask nicely for something, you can't find the words? Hmm? Why is that, darlin'?"

God, why couldn't he just whisper it? It wasn't like Thomas, the real Thomas would ever know. Alexander was the only one there, it was only his imagination. So... "Please," he breathed, so softly that he could barely hear himself.

The hand was back. It was no gentle, drawn out teasing this time. It was rigorous, a means to an end. "A slut and a bastard, right, darlin'? You want this so bad, want everything I can give you. You want me to talk you up to the biggest high you'll ever get, don't you? Isn't that right, _mon chéri_? You want me to tell you every little thing I'd do to you in every language I know while I take you apart." God, rough fingers were squeezing him so tightly, working him to the edge faster and faster with every word breathed into his ear until-

"But you don't even know what words to think for that fantasy, do you, Hamilton?"

His eyes shut tightly as bright sparks of color burst weakly behind them, and he muffled his moan. The pleasure was fleeting. God, he was just pathetic, wasn't he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided that John is going to culinary school. He loves to bake, especially, and so it's a very lucky thing he has two partners to spoil- and Alexander, on occasion.  
> Lafayette got a job at the bakery as a sort of independence thing, because they wanted to live on their own in the states, and that's how they met John.  
> Alexander and John met there because that's Alex's coffee fix. Also, Alex was a fuck boy, but what are you gonna do?  
> Herc: ????? I dunno yet. But he's a fine arts major, our lovely fashion designer. His lovers are his models and inspirations. 
> 
> And yes, our dear Gilbert sometimes forgets which language they're speaking when their thoughts are... preoccupied.
> 
> Thomas is majoring in journalism.  
> Madison is going poli-sci.
> 
> \----------
> 
> Laf is a melodramatic shit. They're also sappy.
> 
> Mon ami: My friend  
> Mon nounours: My teddy bear  
> Le prix d’Amour: The price of love  
> Mon petit chou: My little cream puff


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas refuses to confront the situation at hand, no matter how hard James pushes. Alexander just wants to apologize, but apologies are not something that come easily to him. James is sick of being the mom-friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorta warnings for James jokingly contemplating homicide/suicide. You know: "Ima kill him. Or me. One of us. Oh my God." That's his constant state of mind.
> 
> French translations have been provided by the wonderful Chysack! Send 'em some love!

Avoiding people was not something Thomas went out of his way to do. It was too pedestrian, too far beneath him, and frankly, never worth the effort it took. But in the particular case of Alexander Hamilton, he thought that exceptions could be made. For a week and a half, he'd managed to successfully put off all contact between the two of them, not that it was difficult. He skipped Comparative Politics since no attendance was taken, having James bring him the lesson, though the other man complained the entire time. He even stayed away from the little bakery his sibling worked at, knowing that Alexander's entire crew practically used it as a second roost.

There could be no confrontation if you never saw the man to confront him, right?

He rolled his eyes at the thought. One could only hope.

However, James kept pushing for him to stop running. "Thomas," he said, exasperation heavy in his voice, "you can't just avoid the situation forever, and you're not the type to, anyway. Just talk to him, hash this out! Hell, maybe you can finally ask him out! Wouldn't you rather get this out in the open and dealt with?"

"No. No, I would not." He grimaced, imagining another messy argument. "Jem, the boy may be able to pull off that whole 'survives on coffee and will-power' look, but that doesn't make him any less of a pretentious dick. I'm not about to go and lay out my _feelings_ ," he spat the word, like it was curdled milk, "to an asshole who seems to think it's his mission in life to stomp all over me, for somethin' that ain't ever gonna go anywhere. And before you even suggest the hate-sex thing again, I refuse. I don't do one night stands and haven't since I got home."

It was a conversation they had almost daily, both of them pushing for understanding on the other's part, but neither getting anywhere. Frustrating didn't begin to cover how Thomas felt about it all, and James felt much the same, but it was doing no good. Neither of them were going to give.

So, they were spending another afternoon going over their lessons, arguing over the same topic. Thomas sighed and let his chin rest on his hands, resisting the childish urge to kick James under the table. "Jemmy, why are we sittin' here talkin' about Hamilton when you're supposed to be teaching me what I missed in class on Saturday?" He asked, sullen.

James couldn't help but groan, pressing a hand to his forehead, where he could feel a migraine coming on. "We're discussing him because you're becoming a hermit! You won't come to class if there's a chance you'll run in to him. You won't see your twin. You didn't even come to the bar with me last week, man! Do you know who texted me?" He leaned across the table, raising his eyebrows at Thomas. "John Laurens. John fuckin' Laurens texted me, worried about you because you haven't been coming in to the bakery and, apparently, your sibling is too stubborn to just check on you themselves. This is stupid, really damn _stupid_ , Thomas. I don't understand why you're being like this.”

"I'm not being like anything!" Honestly, why wouldn’t everyone just drop it? "I just don't want to have to deal with the gremlin starting more shit, James. I don't get why that's such a problem." He let out a huff of air. What was so hard to understand about that? Every time he spoke to Hamilton, it nearly ended in blows, and he was sick to death of it. Sick to death of the sheer vitriol that spewed from a usually eloquent mouth when he spoke of Thomas. Sick of hearing the venom in his tone. Sick of seeing how his happiness melted into annoyance any time Thomas came around. It was absolutely fucking draining, ramping up the already ever-present self-consciousness Thomas felt, deflating any hope he might’ve had for a better relationship between the two of them. And yes, he probably could have made more of an effort for the two of them to get along, but first impressions were everything, and he'd already blown that one, so what was the point?

There was no point. So Hamilton was attractive, so what? It didn't mean anything, lots of people were attractive. He was also an annoying little asshole who acted like everything Thomas did was to show off or compensate for something. He had never been anything but disdainful toward Thomas. Except…

Except for that one night, at his twin’s anniversary party. Thomas had always been a little loose with his languages when he'd been drinking, preferring French over English for the easy way it rolled off the tongue and for the way people tended to look at him when he spoke it, like he was someone incredible, someone desirable. He'd never expected Alexander Hamilton to be one of those people. However, looking back, he had a hazy memory of Hamilton doing a double take at him, jaw dropping, eyes wide. He remembered flashing a lazy smirk in Hamilton's direction and refusing to revert to English for the rest of the night. That was the only time Hamilton hadn't had anything derisive to say, no witty remark or snarky comment. Granted, he was probably drunk off his ass, and his memory likely couldn’t be trusted.

Thomas sighed again and pushed back from the table, gathering his things.

"Tom, where are you going?" A frustrated James demanded.

Thomas gave him a hard look in answer. "I'm going back to my flat. I'm not gonna sit here and be harped on, Jemmy, I got better things to do.” He softned as little at the concerned look James gave him, and flashed a tiny smile. “But, if you're so worried, we'll go out for drinks on Friday, hmm?" And he left without another word.

James was going to kill Thomas. Or himself. 

* * *

Alexander hated to admit it, even to himself, but he was worried. He'd rather expected Jefferson to either punch him or avoid him after what he'd said, but the Virginian was a hot-tempered individual, so whatever punishment he received was unlikely to be a lasting one. He was willing to grit his teeth and bear it, just this once. He deserved it, after all, for what he'd said. However, Jefferson did not come after him. He did not see the other man in any of the places he usually did, not the bakery, or the library, or their class, or even the bar. So avoidance it was. He could handle that. A few days, a week at most, because Jefferson wasn't the kind to compromise his comfort for the sake of another individual. But one week went, and another.

It was the third class Jefferson had missed. Alexander hadn't specifically looked for him, he wasn't that much of an idiot, but Jefferson had a mane of curls that was hard to miss, even in a crowd. Three classes marked three weeks of complete avoidance. Did they really know each other's schedules so well that Jefferson could just skirt around him? Was he really so hurt by Alexander’s words? Alex could barely sit still the entire class, interrupting far less than usual in his state of distraction. What if he had put Thomas off completely? Wouldn't that be just his luck? God, he was such a moron. He had to do something about this, it was getting out of hand.

As soon as the lecture let out, Alexander was out of his seat, looking for Madison.

When he caught up with the man, it didn’t escape his notice that they were at the same location where he and Jefferson had argued before. "Madison!" He called out, flagging the other man down. Alex didn't think he'd ever seen someone look so completely _through_ in his life, and that made him a bit apprehensive, but he hurried over anyway.

A cold glare was the greeting he was offered.  "What the hell do you want, Hamilton?"

God, he really was pissed. Were things really that bad? Alexander frowned, coming to a stop in front of Madison. "I want to know where Jefferson is," he said, bluntly. Why else would he be approaching Madison?

If anything, that only served to make the older man look even more agitated. "Why should I tell you? And why would you be looking for him? So you can antagonize him more?" He hitched his bag higher up onto his shoulder and shook his head at Alexander. "I really don't understand the two of you. It's annoying as hell."

Alexander cast Madison a look of confusion and crossed his arms over his chest, feeling defensive. "If your friend didn't always make it his mission to be such a dickhead, then he wouldn't be so easy to antagonize," he huffed, scowling in response to the accusations. Immediately, the cold look on Madison's face turned absolutely frigid, and Alexander realized his mistake. He wasn't here to insult Jefferson, yet. He began to backtrack, carefully. "That being said, I should have... restrained myself more, last time we spoke. I'd like to convey that."

Madison crossed his own arms, but his glare softened into icy curiosity. "Are you saying you want to apologize to him? _You?_ " A single brow arched high, clear inquisition. "I didn't realize the Great Alexander Hamilton apologized to anyone."

The urge to throw his hands up and walk away was almost irresistible, but Alexander managed to swallow most of his anger. "Look, Madison, what I said was uncalled for, and I would like to say that to Jefferson instead of his caretaker. Is that not a sufficient enough explanation for you? Would you like to know all of my intentions toward him?" He needed to apologize. He didn't want Thomas to absolutely loathe him, and that was what worried him the most now, that he had ensured Jefferson's hatred above all else. "Can you just tell me where the pompous bastard is so that I can say what I need to say?"

And, alarmingly, a small smile twitched across Madison's lips. "You two are fuckin' annoying," he said decisively, nodding to himself. "All right, Hamilton. I'll set it up so the two of you can sort out this bullshit. I'm not telling you where he's at right now, though, because I already get ranted at enough and I don't need more shit to add to his bitch list, okay?"

Alex couldn’t help his startled laugh, and he agreed. He could do a meet up. That would  work better than showing up at his home. A public place meant it was less likely that he'd do something stupid.

"All right," Madison continued. "Saturday, before the lecture. Don't tell Lafayette, but he's taken to getting his breakfast at the student center on Saturdays, because he knows you're not going to be there."

Relief uncoiled the tense knot that Alexander's insides had twisted themselves into, and he nodded again. "Thanks, Madison," he murmured, grateful.

The small smile was back on Madison's face, and he held out a hand for Hamilton to shake. "Don't mention it, man. The less he complains to me about you, the more work I can get done. But Hamilton?" Suddenly, the grip on Alexander's hand turned threatening, tightening to the point of being painful. "If you do anything worse to him, our next conflict won't end with words."

"Damn. You really are like his mother," Alex groused, but there was a grudging respect to his words. He knew he was in the wrong, so he didn't begrudge Madison's concern. And… he didn’t want to hurt Thomas, not again. He was going to try his hardest not to do so. "Fine. I'll try not to hurt his feelings. Just gonna tell him what I told you. Good?"

Again with that smile. "Good." 

* * *

There was no knocking this time when Alexander burst into the apartment of his three best friends, an action he probably should have regretted but-

The door crashed open, an alarmed yelp following it, mixed with curses in multiple languages. "Lafayette, I need your help! I gotta learn an apolo-- _oh_. Damn."

"What the fuck, Alex!?"

 _"_ _Merde, Alexander, tu fais vraiment chier!_ _"_

 "Um.... Sorry?" He was most definitely not sorry.

 "Would you stop fucking looking? Oh my God, Alex, have some decency!"

He should have regretted just bursting in. But all he really got from the situation was that he should have slept with John while he had the chance, that Hercules was packing a lot more than Alex expected, and that Lafayette's ass looked phenomenal, which made him wonder if they were identical to Thomas on every level...

Oh, and he was taught an apology to give to Thomas, in exchange for a knock before his next unscheduled visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Alex likes to look. A lot. Can we really blame him?
> 
> In reference to Thomas eating in the student center, Laf would get pretty pissy over pastry superiority.
> 
> Merde, Alexander, tu fais vraiment chier!: Shit, Alexander! You're a real pain in the ass!
> 
> If you think he's not going to get it back for barging in on that, you're very, very wrong.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas pines, with mac and cheese as his only comfort. Alexander attempts to apologize. Lafayette watches the scene unfold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entire first half of this is literally part Thomas whining, part macaroni and cheese recipe. I'm sorry/You're welcome. 
> 
> Warning for somewhat suggestive conversation, I guess?
> 
> French translations have been provided by the wonderful Chysack! Send 'em some love!
> 
> Enjoy!

Three weeks was a long time to go without something that used to be every day, and Thomas was learning that the hard way. He was a creature of habit, used to a set schedule with little fluctuation, little give. The farthest out of his pattern he'd ever strayed was when he'd lived in France for two years after graduating high school, but even there, he'd quickly built a routine for himself and stuck to it. So, each change he endured took time to adjust to, and this one was taking longer than he'd expected. Skipping class was easy, and he was actually happier for having done it. Changing scenery was easy, something he'd done all his life due, so it didn't bother him to find new places to spend his hours. Changing his snacking habits wasn't as easy, but he'd been meaning to anyway, and this only gave him a reason. Avoiding Gilbert...

That was a bit harder than everything else, but it didn't feel as though it could be helped. Gilbert was good friends with Hamilton, as were both of Gilbert's boyfriends, and so, being around them just increased the risk of running into Hamilton. It was a risk he didn't want to take, his stomach churning at the thought. Of course, he still texted his sibling fairly regularly, and he could tell that Gilbert was hurt by the lack of real contact. It made Thomas feel guilty, but he wasn't going to put himself back into a position where he and Hamilton would butt heads again. Not like that. He knew he got too callous with his words, and Hamilton had a short fuse. The last thing Jefferson wanted was for their verbal strikes to become physical ones, and he felt as though they were rapidly heading in that direction. He just couldn't control his head, or his mouth, around Hamilton. It was better that they weren't near one another. So why did Thomas find himself constantly looking back at their arguments and wondering what Alexander would say to him if he were around? Why did Thomas find himself musing about the younger man's political views when reading the newspaper, or wondering if that Saturday's lecture had been well fought over? Why was it that any time he felt desire creeping through his blood, it was accompanied by Alexander's body, his voice, his face?

It was frustrating that, even when he wasn't around, Hamilton could hold so much sway over Jefferson's thoughts. His presence was the catalyst for the changes in Jefferson's life, but the lack of his presence was the only change Thomas couldn't adjust to. It was ridiculous, and Thomas couldn't help but laugh at himself. Wasn't that just so like him? Not only did he have to lust after the guy that hated him, but it seemed like he'd caught feelings as well. The thought made him groan and bury his face in his hands, his stomach churning. What kind of an idiot was he?

That was the question he kept asking himself, over and over, as he avoided Hamilton for nearly a month. He'd expected some kind of forced confrontation, but there was nothing from Hamilton save silence. Thomas tried not to feel disappointed, called himself an idiot again. Disappointed because Alexander Hamilton hadn't tried to pick another fight with him? He was more desperate than he realized.

"God, I can't fucking do this." Needing to feel active, to have some kind of task occupying him, he picked himself up from where he'd been moping on his couch and went into the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge before rummaging through his cabinets for the supplies he knew he'd need. Thomas would never admit to a single soul that he was sulking, but he felt like comfort food regardless. It always helped him think, and he needed a clear head. He hadn't had a clear head in days, cluttered as it was with Hamilton's presence and the demons that gnawed at him.

Thomas gathered the ingredients, a bowl, and a single pot, which he filled with water and set to boil. He set about to grating cheese into the bowl, the repetitive motion of it soothing to him, and allowed his mind to wander once more. Would it be so bad to just apologize? He couldn't deny that he wanted to see Hamilton's face at that, see if he'd look as surprised as Thomas imagined. Perhaps his eyes would soften a little, as they sometimes did toward Laurens. Perhaps that crooked smile would peek out at him. Would it be so bad to offer an admission of wrong doing, if that was his reward? He'd been unkind. But was it worth the fighting that would no doubt still come later?

He delighted in the mental challenge that Alexander posed for him, silently thrilled at every debate or disagreement that sprung up between them, as it gave him a chance to see more of that brilliant mind and the way it worked. Unfortunately, though, the debates couldn't come without a price, and Thomas had realized that he’d stopped enjoying the quarrels when they began to attack each other instead of just each other's ideals. But they couldn't seem to move past it. They were petty and childish. Thomas sighed.

When the cheese was grated, he returned to the stove and poured the pasta into the boiling water, then moved on to the butcher-block, where he began to slice onions. Thankfully, this took a little more concentration, and he was able to focus more on what his hands were doing than the circles his thoughts were running around him. By the time he was finished with the onions, the pasta was done. He smiled, feeling a bit satisfied with his timing, his beastly self doubt momentarily retreating. Strained the pasta, set it to the side.

It was back to menial tasks once the onions were sauteed and the roux had reached the right consistency, so as Thomas whisked in the milk, Hamilton reigned over his thoughts again. What would it be like it they just got along for once? Thomas was certain that, should Hamilton set aside his pride for a brief amount of time, they would probably get along just fine. Maybe they wouldn’t see eye to eye, that would likely never happen, but they'd be able to lay aside the facade long enough to find something to respect, and wouldn't that be something? Rivalry would be there still, opposition too, but they'd damn well have respect for each other. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

Havarti, Brie, Muenster, all tossed into the pot. Thomas grabbed a bottle of bourbon from the counter top, taking a healthy swallow before tipping a fair amount into the sauce. He stirred in the melting cheese for a few moments more, then dumped the entire vat over the bowl of pasta he'd set aside. When he was finished, he grabbed a spoon and traipsed into the living room, smiling at his handy work. The true comfort food, golden, decadent sin. He sank onto the cushions of the couch and picked up a book, firmly telling himself that he would not think of Alexander Hamilton any more, and took the time to treat himself. 

* * *

The next morning, Thomas didn't feel any better about the situation. His body was restless, his thoughts jumping from one worst-case scenario to another, as they had been for weeks. But he intended to pretend that he’d figured it all out, that there was nothing to worry about. After all, if he allowed himself to linger, then it would only make matters worse, especially considering that he was the only one lingering. He shook his head at himself, and set out for what was sure to be a long and uneventful day, just as the past four weeks had been. In their absence, Thomas was beginning to realize that all of the excitement in his life seemed to revolve around his sibling and the people that Gilbert had forced him to associate with. Funny.

The student center was quiet when he arrived, something he was silently thankful for, and Thomas found a corner to seclude himself in with his notebooks and a coffee. He allowed himself to get absorbed in his coursework, his surroundings becoming nothing more than background noise. He had no real reason to pay attention. The company his brother kept never came to the center, Madison and Hamilton were likely getting ready for classes. He had the morning to himself, an occurrence he was slowly becoming adjusted to.

That mindset, perhaps, was why he didn't notice the person approaching him until it was too late to avoid him.

The chair across the table from him was pulled out abruptly and Thomas started, looking up in alarm to find none other than Alexander Hamilton sinking into the unoccupied seat. "What the hell are you doing here?" He snapped, instantly going on the offensive as he tried to ignore the sudden sensation of ants crawling over him, imaginary people staring. "What don't you understand about being avoided? The clear dislike? The fact that there's someone who doesn't want to be around you?"

The sheepish expression on Hamilton's face darkened into a stormy frown, but rather than blow up like Thomas expected, the younger man sank back in his chair, chewing on his bottom lip. He glared at the table, looked up at Thomas, then back at the table, seemingly unsure of himself. Finally, he said, "Jefferson, we need to talk."

 _We need to talk._ Okay, there had to have been a better way to start that, but of course, Alexander's brain chose to provide the most cliche line possible. He wanted the floor to swallow him up. And if Jefferson had seemed irritated before, he was down right pissed now. "Talk?" He snorted, disbelieving and derisive. "There ain't a thing for us to talk about, Hamilton, so why don't you just go away? My morning was far more pleasant without you in it."

Alexander winced, but he knew he deserved the harsh rebuke. Still, he was going to get this apology out, one way or another. "Can you just shut up for a second? It's not like this was what I had planned for my morning either." God, what a lie. He’d only thought out the scenario dozens of times, reciting the words until Lafayette refused to hear him any longer. Alex ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, steadying himself. It was just an apology. _He'll take it or leave it, there's nothing more you can do._ “Look, Jefferson... _Je suis désolé, Thomas. Ce que j'ai dit découlait de ma colère et ma peur, car je me trouve à m'attacher à toi._ " His speech was slow, trying to ensure his pronunciation was correct while conveying sincerity. The words Lafayette had taught him were lengthy, but hopefully they'd get his message across. _"Je pense souvent à toi. J'ai rêvé de toi la nuit dernière."_

"Wha-?!"

"I'm not done!" Alexander interrupted, knowing that if he didn't say it all, he would take it all back and storm out, leaving their feud worse than before. He kept his eyes trained on the table, ignoring the hefty weight of Jefferson's gaze on him. _"Je te trouve enchanteur. Est-ce que tu veux coucher avec moi?"_  When Alex had finished, he risked a glance upward.

Jefferson's entire face was a shade of red Alexander had never seen before, his eyes wide and unblinking. He stared at Alexander silently, which didn't exactly seem like a comforting response, so he cleared his throat. "I'm finished now," he prompted, but it barely earned a blink. Fuck, he'd wanted Thomas to be surprised when he spoke, but speechlessness wasn't becoming on the older man, and it was worrying Alexander. "Jefferson, do you or not?" Surely it wasn't that hard to just say he forgave Alex, and put this mess in the past, right?

Thomas seemed to shake himself, his face burning crimson. "It's a bit early for that, don't you think, Hamilton?" He sputtered, scrubbing his hands over his face as if to make some of the color dissipate. He looked around, trying to see if anyone else had noticed what Hamilton had said, if anyone could see how much of a fool he was making of himself.

A bit early? To say he'd been forgiven? _Really?!_ "Dammit, Jefferson, a simple fucking no would've been sufficient." he snapped, pushing back from the table. He didn't need this. He'd wanted to fix their... _fuck,_ there wasn't anything to fix, was there? They weren’t friends, they were barely acquainted. Fuck, but this was a stupid plan. He needed to leave. He stood and grabbed his messenger bag, turning to run, and-

A hand latched onto his wrist, holding him in place, and he looked back at Jefferson, puzzled. The other man wouldn't meet his eyes, but when he spoke, his voice was firm. "Don't put words in my mouth, Alexander. I didn't say no."

Involuntarily, Alex shivered. Had Thomas ever called him by his given name? He couldn't remember a time, but he loved the sound of it. It made his chest feel tight, the telltale warmth of lust tingling under his skin, and he inhaled sharply. "And that means?" He prompted, pleasantly surprised at how level his voice stayed. He just wanted to hear it, to receive that absolution for his sins so he could stop feeling so damn guilty all the time.

"It means..." Why was his answer taking so long? Why was he turning so red? None of this made any sense. "Let's go to mine, and we'll talk," he finally said, and Alexander just stared. _What?_ Slowly, Thomas stood from his chair as well and raised a brow at Alex in silent inquiry.

 _What. The. Fuck._ Where had that even come from? But... But Alexander wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to get closer to Thomas, to know more about him. He couldn’t bring himself to say no, curiousity urging him to agree even though logic was screaming at him to say no. So he just nodded, letting Thomas lead the way. And if it took a little too long for Thomas to let go of his wrist, then neither of them were going to mention it. 

* * *

"That was better than I could have hoped!" Lafayette crowed happily from their table in the center, as soon the two men were out of sight. Pride filled them, and they clapped their hands together in elation. Unfortunately, the men seated with them didn't seem to share their glee, and they pouted at their companions. "Come, darlings, why so upset? Did things not go exactly as we wished?"

Hercules was shaking his head before his partner was even through speaking. "Baby, Alex is gonna be so damn confused,” he protested, pity for their duped comrade showing in his voice. “Hell, he's probably confused right now. He don't have a damn clue what he said, does he?" Gilbert only smiled, and Herc shook his head again. "So, if he comes back and tries to break our door down again, I can just hang you out to dry?" Lafayette gave an affronted gasp and turned to John, silently pleading for protection.

"I'm gonna throw you under the bus, too, sweetheart," John said slowly, wrapping his arm around Lafayette's waist. "But, I'll tell ya. That was the funniest damn thing I think I've ever seen in my life!" He burst into a fit of giggles, which he attempted to muffle against his lover's shoulder with little success. Gilbert grinned triumphantly, but Hercules continued to frown.

"I just don't know," he said. "Do you really think he deserved that? It might have been a little much..."

Lafayette gave a thoughtful hum. "Well, I had always intended to have him say something to Thomas. Something romantic, embarrassing, no? Since they're both so very gone for each other, I thought it would be an acceptable deception. You and I both know they are far too proud to have ever said a word on their own." They turned to nuzzle John's hair, pressed a soft kiss into the curls. "But, then he interrupted our session, _mes amours_ , and he did not even apologize! It is not often that I get both of you in my bed at once with how busy we are." They reached across the table and took Hercules' hand in their own. "Perhaps I am a wee bit cruel, but I think Alex will only thank me for it, in the end."

John had finally managed to collect himself, and he sat up, nodding along. "Herc, honey, Laf is right. Thomas is probably gonna jump him whenever they get somewhere private, and we all know Alex’ll be really damn pleased by that. So..." He grinned and nudged Mulligan's foot with his own under the table. "Whadda y'all say we go back to ours and have some fun of our own? We'll remember to lock the door this time..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Je suis désolé Thomas. Ce que j'ai dit découlait de ma colère et ma peur, car je me trouve à m'attacher à toi. Je pense souvent à toi. J'ai rêvé de toi la nuit dernière. Je te trouve enchanteur. Est-ce que tu veux coucher avec moi?
> 
> What Alex thought he said: I'm sorry. What I said was out of anger. I was cruel. I didn't intend to lose control. I only find you frustrating at times. Do you forgive me?
> 
> What was really said: I'm sorry, Thomas. What I said was out of anger and fear, as I find myself growing too fond of you. I think of you often. I dreamt of you last night. I find you enchanting. Do you want to sleep with me?
> 
> It was originally going to be something much more lewd, but... eh.
> 
> \----------
> 
> Thank you all so much for the wonderful comments you've left! I can't tell you how much they mean to me as a writer, and how much they encourage me. Every time I see that someone has left a comment or kudos, I smile so huge, it's ridiculous. Thanks, guys. You're wonderful! 
> 
> We're drawing to the end of this, I believe! It shouldn't be more than one or two chapters now. Please stick with me for the rest of the ride, I'll do my best to make it worth it!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas ponders his feelings for Alexander, and what Alex said, as they go back to his flat to talk. Confused chaos ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, darlings! Thank you so much for all your support and patience, and especially your feedback! It means the world to me, and is the motivation for every new word!
> 
> Also, this chapter would never have been finished without the wonderful  AnonymousCrazyFangirl Go check them out!

Having Alexander Hamilton apologize to him for anything was nigh on unbelievable. Hamilton apologizing to him in French was something Thomas had never imagined. The things Hamilton said after? Thomas had never even dared to fantasize.

_"I think of you often. I dreamt of you last night."_

_What?_ Thomas knew he had to be dreaming. He'd fallen asleep over his breakfast and he was dreaming again, because there was no way this could be happening. He could feel his face flushing as Hamilton spoke, and he was unable to tear his eyes away from the smaller man as he continued, sweet, suggestive words falling from his lips. He the sentences come slowly, clearly thinking about each word as he said it, and that knowledge did nothing but make Thomas's pulse race. Hamilton had thought of this. Of him. He was-

  _"Do you want to sleep with me?"_

 Oh God. Had he just been propositioned? By _Hamilton?_

His cheeks were burning, his throat felt tight, and he couldn't do so much as blink. Alexander Hamilton had just- Fuck, weren't they supposed to be _enemies?_ Didn't Alexander hate him? They'd only had a handful of conversations that didn't end with them trying to kill each other. How could someone go from cursing his existence to wanting him in their bed? Not that he didn't want to! God, he wanted to. He wanted it more than he was willing to admit, even to himself. But hell, he didn't even know if he was allowed to call the man by his first name! What made Hamilton-

"I'm finished now," came an expectant statement, startling Thomas out of his thoughts. He blinked slowly, and realized that Hamilton was watching him now, instead of staring at the table as he had before. Thomas felt his mouth go dry at the weight of those eyes on him, and he blinked again, nerves twisting his stomach into knots. What could he say? What if this was just a test? What if he said yes, and it was all some big prank, designed to humiliate him? But what if he said no, and it turned out that Hamilton was serious? There was no way to win, no safe way to answer such a colossal question, and Thomas had no idea which route to take, but he had to answer, he had to--

"Jefferson," Hamilton said, insistent. He sounded as though he were getting angry, impatient, and that made Thomas freeze further. "Do you, or not?"

In a panic, Thomas spit out the first thing that came to mind. "It's a bit early for that, don't you think, Hamilton?" He asked, almost desperate for some kind of give, some hint as to how he was meant to handle this. He didn't know how to handle this!

An almost hurt expression flickered over Hamilton’s face before a dark look took it's place, his brows drawing low, casting his eyes in shadow as his mouth set into a snarl. "Dammit, Jefferson, a simple fucking no would have been sufficient," he snapped, his cheeks staining a ruddy color as he shoved away from the table, ready to flee. Was he embarrassed? Hurt by what had come across as rejection or dismissal? It certainly seemed like it, and if that were the case, it could only mean one thing. Hamilton had meant it. He'd wanted Thomas to say yes.

Before Thomas could talk himself out of it, he was reaching out, grabbing Alexander's wrist in a firm grip. He couldn't help but notice just how warm Alexander’s skin was against his own usually-cold fingers, and he felt his cheeks burn once more, but he didn't release his hold on the smaller man. "Don't put words in my mouth, Alexander," he warned softly, trying to reassure him in the most subtle way he could. This was not a normal situation at all, and Thomas had panicked, but he knew what he wanted. He wanted Alexander, wanted his quick temper, sharp tongue, his voice, his touch. "I didn't say no." He'd been too busy trying not to say yes.

Inexplicably, a shudder ran through Alexander's frame, his fingers twitching for a moment, his face dusted with a bright shade of pink. “And that means?” He questioned, sounding a little less sharp than before, for which Thomas was grateful, his fear lifting fractionally.

But he was clearly still expecting an answer, and Thomas felt his face heating up as he scrambled for one to provide. “It means…” He knew what he wanted, and it seemed like Hamilton wanted the same thing. He just didn’t want to assume and make a fool of himself, but they could hardly have a conversation here! The longer he thought about his answer, the more impatient Alexander seemed to get, and finally, Thomas just forced himself to respond. “Let’s go to mine, and we’ll talk.”

There. That wasn’t too forward, was it? And he really did want to talk, at least at first! There was a lot that needed to be explained, a lot that they needed to discuss, like exactly what this was and where they wanted this to go, and where it had come from. But for now, he just needed to get away from the student center. His social anxiety was kicking in, fueled in part by the very blatant way Alexander had announced his desires, and he couldn’t help but feel like there was someone watching them, someone who understood what was happening, what had been said.

He looked up at Alexander, jittery and nervous as he awaited his response, and barely restrained his sigh of relief at the nod that finally came. He nodded back, grabbing his bag, and fairly bolted for the door.

Hamilton followed quietly, keeping pace, and it wasn’t until they reached the door that Thomas realized he was still holding onto Alexander’s wrist. He dropped it immediately, internally cursing himself for not having noticed sooner, and held the door open for Alex on their way out. Still, nothing was said between them, and they crossed the campus in silence. Thomas couldn’t help but feel somewhat lighter away from the student center, but nausea still churned in his stomach. Something wasn’t quite clicking…

Despite his nerves, though, Thomas was elated, excited. He glanced over at Alexander, almost wishing he hadn’t dropped the other man’s hand. Though they’d fought often, he’d always admired Hamilton’s passion, his unwavering determination. Alexander was infuriating, but he was incredible, intelligent and even charming when anyone but Thomas was involved. Thomas had admired him physically as well, as Alexander was hardly unattractive. He’d never assumed the admiration was returned, though, especially not with Alexander’s vicious behavior at times. It was a surprising development, but not an unwelcome one.

He just wished he knew why it came out now, of all times. A simple apology would have done, and they could have gone back to their usual banter. But instead, he received a full proposition. It wasn’t exactly a confession, but it was close enough that it made Thomas wonder if there was some kind of catalyst. He’d never avoided Alexander before, so that could have played a part, but… well, did it really matter? He was sure they’d talk about it. He didn’t need to drive himself crazy wondering, doing nothing but running himself in circles with worry. Thomas shook his head and gave a huff of laughter, which earned a look from Alexander, but he just shook his head again and picked up his pace.

After a few minutes of walking, they finally reached his building, and Thomas gave a little sigh of relief as they went up the stairs. He opened the door and held it for Alexander, ignoring the little glare that was sent his way, flashing the other man a small smile. “It’s called bein’ polite,” he attempted to tease, but Alexander averted his gaze, so Thomas guessed his attempt fell short. He shut the door behind them, and sighed again, closing his eyes. Why was this so awkward? 

* * *

 Alex gave Jefferson a puzzled look, unsure of why  he was being so nice. An apology didn’t immediately constitute good behaviour between the two of them, did it? But then, Jefferson had invited him back to his home… Alexander frowned, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, then heaved an exasperated sigh, “Well, are we doing this, or what?” He was getting impatient. Jefferson seemed to flinch at the question, unusually shy for someone who was normally as boastful as a peacock. “You said you wanted to talk. I’m here. Let’s talk. Okay?”

He watched Thomas take a deep breath, then nod, stepping away from the door, further into the living area. The older man sat down on the sofa and glanced pointedly at Alexander, gesturing to the other seat, so he huffed and plunked down beside Thomas. “I’m a little confused about what you said,” Thomas confessed softly, color rising to his cheeks again.

Alexander scowled in response, baffled. “I thought I was being pretty clear, Jefferson.” Was he being intentionally dense? Alex knew Lafayette wouldn’t have misinformed him, and he was extremely careful about his pronunciation. He’d practiced for hours, though he’d never admit it, not to Jefferson of all people. “Don’t be an idiot, I know you understand exactly what I said.”

To his surprise, Jefferson looked away, hackles not raising as they so often did. The man looked… sheepish? Embarrassed? Hmm. “Right. Well. Maybe _confused_ is the wrong word.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and glanced up at Alexander through his lashes, and Alex bit his lip, trying to ignore just how attractive Thomas looked like that. Who would have thought it possible? Thomas Jefferson, looking all shy and unsure because of Alexander? It was so strange a concept, Alex almost thought he was dreaming. “Just... Tell me you aren’t gonna take it back.”

Alex scoffed. “Are you serious?” Did he really think so little of Alexander, that Jefferson would assume he’d retract an apology? After he’d gone through so much trouble to make it in the first place? He was angry at the insinuation, but Thomas was ducking his head again, and somehow… somehow that defused a little of his rage. He forced himself to breathe, in and out. “I’m not going to take it back. I meant what I said. Okay?”

Thomas seemed relieved at that, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders, and he shot Alex a lopsided grin that made butterflies stir in his stomach, fluttering and swooping. “Okay,” he murmured, his voice warm. “S’long as you’re sure, _mon cher_.”

_Wait, what?_

But then Thomas was leaning forward across the middle seat between them, one of his hands coming up to tangle in Alexander’s hair as he closed the distance between them. Alexander knew he needed to shove Thomas away, to stop this. He didn’t understand what was going on, why this was happening, but then Thomas was pressing their lips together, and his mind went blank.

Thomas was kissing him. Thomas Jefferson, kissing him. Alex was certain that he wasn’t dreaming, that he couldn’t be, but there was no way this would ever happen in real life. Still, there were long fingers in his hair, gently tugging, tilting his face so their lips would fit together just _that much_ better. And God, but Thomas had such _soft_ lips, just as plush as they had looked, as he had imagined so many times, and they moved against his own so gently… A whimper escaped Alex before he could stop it, and for just a moment, he melted into the contact. He brought shaky hands up to rest on Thomas’ shoulders, and he returned the pressure, for one blissful moment. 

* * *

For a second, Thomas was terrified. He thought he’d read the situation wrong, thought it had all been a joke after all and he’d taken it too far. Thought he’d dreamt the whole thing, and now Alexander was going to hate him even more than he already did. When he pressed his lips to Alex’s, the other man was the definition of frozen, cold and unyielding. But he didn’t push Thomas away, so he kept kissing Alexander, gently, sweetly, hoping for some kind of response. And, after a moment, he got what he wanted. Alexander gave a shaky whimper - _an honest to God whimper, fuck_ \- and began to kiss back.

Alexander was good, too. He kissed like he argued, whole-hearted and passionate, even when it was meant to be a gentle exchange. It made Thomas want to laugh, want to tease him about needing to slow down and take his time, but he shivered and moved closer instead, giving an approving hum, unable to tear himself away.

And just like that, Alexander was gone, scrambling away from him. He was scrubbing at his mouth and looking at Thomas with wide, furious eyes. “What the fuck was that?!” He all but shrieked.

Thomas didn’t know whether to be offended or concerned. Had he done something wrong, had he messed it up somehow? “It was just a kiss!” He defended. It hadn’t even been a particularly deep one, not yet, at least. “Compared to what _you_ asked for, I’d say that was pretty damn innocent!” But an uneasy suspicion took hold of him, pain lancing through his chest, and he spat, “Or was kissing just not part of the equation?” Was it just sex? Was that all Hamilton wanted, no strings attached? Because, yeah, Thomas had had his share of one night stands, but he wasn’t a casual sex kind of guy, and he certainly wasn’t the kind to accept sex as an _apology!_

But Hamilton was looking at him like he was insane. “Hell no, kissing was _not_ part of the equation!” He yelled, rising to his feet, a flush coloring his face. “And all I asked was for you to forgive me because I said some shitty things to you! I think this really pushes this boundaries of ‘forgiveness’, Jefferson!”

Normally, Thomas would have jumped up and started screaming at Hamilton in return, arguing his case, defending himself and his actions with everything in his arsenal. But something about that statement caught his attention. _‘All I asked for’_ , Hamilton insisted. And with all that he was, Hamilton was not, in his experience, a liar. He seemed to believe what he was saying. That was all he had asked for. So why did the words come out asking for something else entirely?

Because he’d asked for forgiveness in French. And who did they both know who spoke French fluently? Who also happened to know what Thomas thought of Alexander?

He clenched his hands into fists and gave a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. Hamilton was looking at him like he’d lost his mind, but he didn’t care. He might as well be crazy, for having ever though this could be real. He hung his head, burying his face in his hands. “You have no fucking clue what you said to me, do you?” He asked, not bothering to look up. He already knew the answer. God, this was pathetic.

He heard Hamilton splutter, then say, “I said I was sorry! That wasn’t permission for you to go and attack my mouth!”

 _Attack_ . Huh. That hurt, that really hurt, but it was true, wasn’t it? Hamilton hadn’t known what was happening, hadn’t agreed to the kiss. Thomas laughed again, and looked up at Hamilton, giving him the sweetest smile he could muster through his rage, his hurt. “You propositioned me, _Darlin’_. Right there in the middle of the student center. Said you’d been dreaming of me, wanted to know if I’d be willing to take you.” The phrasing hadn’t been so crude, but maybe he just wanted to see Hamilton looking as humiliated as he felt.

Sure enough, Hamilton’s face flushed and his eyes widened with something akin to horror before it melted into a bitter glower. It almost looked as though his lip quivered as he snarled at Thomas, but Thomas shoved down the guilt that threatened to rise at that. Hamilton didn’t care what he said. He never had, why would that change now?

“That’s not true!” Hamilton growled, his entire face a deep red from rage. “I know what I said, I practiced those words at least a dozen times, and Laf taught-”

“Of course.” His suspicions were confirmed. Of course it was his meddling fucking twin, couldn’t keep out of his business. Couldn’t leave him the hell alone for once in their lives! Didn’t matter if there was an ocean between them or a few blocks! “Of fucking _course_ they did.” Thomas rose to his feet and grabbed Hamilton by the arm, paying no attention to the other man’s protests as he dragged him toward the exit. He opened his door and shoved Hamilton out of the apartment.

“What the fuck ?” Hamilton yelled, but Thomas only glared.

“Get the hell out of my apartment building, Hamilton,” he muttered. “Do not come back. Forget my address, and for that matter? Forget that this ever fucking happened. I don’t want to have anything to do with you. As far as I’m concerned, we are not on speaking terms.” He slammed the door of his apartment closed behind him and shoved past Hamilton toward the stairwell.

“That’s not how it seemed a minute ago!” Hamilton snapped, following him. “You certainly seemed to want me just a second ago! What the hell, Jefferson?” He reached out and grabbed Thomas’ wrist, but Thomas jerked away and kept walking. He didn’t look up, didn’t look back, no matter what Hamilton said. He just kept moving, out of the building, down the sidewalk. After a bit, Hamilton gave up, and Thomas smiled bitterly to himself. Yeah, in what world would Alexander Hamilton really chase him?

He rounded the corner and began to walk even faster, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the date. Perfect, it was Lafayette’s day off. That meant no public scenes and no witnesses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mentioned this before, but I'll say it again: I'm going to be making an impromptu series out of this, definitely featuring more of Thomas and Laf's background, possibly some cutesy oneshots, maybe some more of the rev set! Feel free to throw out what you guys would like to see, either here or on tumblr @synonym--roll ! I'd love to hear from you!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you remember how I said Alex didn't have a roommate back in chapter two? I fixed that, now he does, and guess who??? 
> 
> I'm sorry in advance for the angst (Blame Pat.) Buuut! The Schuyler Sisters are making their debut for you! (Thank Pat!) This chapter is about twice the length of the last one as an apology for the delay, but it shifts POV a lot, so keep track of the line breaks!

It wasn’t often that Alexander was left speechless, but when Jefferson stormed away from him outside of the apartment building, he found himself unable to call out, voice restrained by anger and confusion. What in the hell had just happened? How had the situation escalated so quickly, going from an apology to a kiss, to an argument that promised avoidance and exclusion once again? Wasn’t that the entire reason Alex had apologized in the first place? To keep Thomas from hating him? It seemed like his efforts had paid off, more than he’d realized, but then he’d gone and opened his big mouth and ruined it all, like he always did.Why did he do that? Wasn’t that what he’d wanted? For Thomas to want him? Alexander could have screamed. Instead, he watched Thomas disappear around the corner, unable to make his feet move, unable to make himself give voice to the thoughts whirring through his head.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, just staring down the road, watching and waiting for Thomas to reappear, but he didn’t, and standing there did nothing to help Alex get his head on right. He needed to think, but his roommate was going to be in, and he didn’t want to deal with Burr’s infuriating presence while he was trying to figure this mess out. The school just seemed too public, the park too lonely and cliche. Maybe John would be willing to help him out?

Alexander pulled his phone out, and messaged his best friend, hoping the other man could help him find clarity.

 

> **ME:** _Something weird  just went down with Jeffershit. IDK WTF. HELP???_
> 
> **DearestLaurens:** _Wdy mean weird?_ _  
> _  
> **ME:** _It’s embarrassing. He kissed me. I said some shitty things. We’re not talking again. I don’t even know what happened, I’m so confused. Help me._ _  
> _**ME:** _John??_  
>   
>  **DearestLaurens:** _Sorry man idk._ _  
> _**DearestLaurens:** _Look, just talk 2 him. Hes not so bad._ _  
> _  
> **ME:** _John HE KISSED ME_ _  
> _  
> **DearestLaurens:** _U say that like its a bad thing!_ _  
> _**DearestLaurens:** _We kno u r into him_ _  
> _  
> **ME:** _No I am not! And that’s not the point! He dragged me out of the building and told me not to come back. He left._  
>   
>  **DearestLaurens:** _Idk how 2 help u man. Txt him. Youll be ok i promise._ _  
> __  
> _**ME:** _Can I come over there at least?_  
>   
>  **DearestLaurens:** Nope, bro, srry. Wish i could help but Herc is taking me 2 Spiderman tonite.

  
So John was no help at all, and if he was busy, his partners surely would be as well. Alexander couldn’t bring himself to text Thomas, too afraid of the fight he was sure would ensue, or the silence. And somehow, he doubted Thomas would be very happy to come home and find Alex still waiting on the sidewalk in front of his apartment.  
  
That left him with one option.  
  
He just hoped Angelica didn’t mind the imposition on her time. He knew the girls were having their family night in, but he needed Peggy. She helped ground him more than the others, never tolerating bullshit, always giving the best advice. Eliza would be understanding, helpful, supportive as always. Angelica would no doubt get a kick out of the situation, and would call him an idiot for panicking like he had when Peggy inevitably told them. Still, if anyone could help him figure it out, it would be them. They were nothing short of incredible.  
  
Feeling a little less heavy than he had before, Alexander ordered an Uber. He didn’t want to walk all the way to Angelica’s apartment. He shot off a text to Peggy as an afterthought, asking if he could come over.  
  
The response was as expected.  


> **MyMargarita:** _Since when do you ask? Yeah, come on!_

  
He cracked a smile, and pocketed his phone again, rolling his eyes. She had a point, at least.

* * *

  
It seemed as though the closer he got to his sibling’s apartment, the more his temper skyrocketed. Thomas had always been the kind to grow angrier the longer an issue stewed, the more he thought about it, so by the time he finally hit Gilbert’s building, he was a pot more than ready to boil over. He took the stairs, fingers sliding over the railing as he contemplated all the methods of torture his twin surely deserved, and he kicked himself internally for not predicting that something like this would happen. Gilbert had always been a bit of a matchmaker, and they had a vindictive streak, though Thomas couldn’t think of anything he’d done to set off that side of his sibling recently. Still, he should have known better than to trust Gilbert with anything important. No doubt the moron had thought putting he and Alex in a situation like that was a fantastic idea, but look what had happened!

Thomas fairly pounded on the door, uncaring of the way he bruised his knuckles, and within seconds, it opened to reveal an unimpressed and unsurprised looking Hercules Mulligan. “Where is Gilbert?” He asked quietly, but his voice was far from soft. It was filled with barely suppressed anger, his eyes hard and flinty, and he was already looking around Mulligan to see if he could manage to shoulder his way in. He just needed to get past the door.  
  
To his surprise, Hercules only shook his head and held the door open wider. “They’re cowering in our room.” Thomas did a double take at the willingly offered information, to which the other man cracked a half-grin. “Look, we told them we weren’t gonna back ‘em on this, and we thought it was wrong. They made their bed, the way I see it. I mean, I love them, but…” He shrugged, and shook his head again. “Well. Are you going to come in or what?”  
  
Somewhat suspicious, Thomas stepped into the apartment, but Hercules made no threatening movements. In fact, the other man didn’t even shut the door. He seemed to be making his own exit, actually. Now Thomas was really confused. Was this really the man he’d entrusted with his sibling’s well-being? Because Mulligan clearly understood the situation at hand, so he knew this wasn’t going to be a friendly chat. Why on earth would he think that leaving Thomas alone with Gilbert was a good idea right now, of all times?  
  
But, before he could inquire, there was a loud crash, wailing coming from the direction of the bedroom. Thomas started, alarmed, but Hercules heaved a sigh and leaned back against the open door, rolling his eyes. More bewildered than ever, Thomas looked back toward the bedroom, and soon, there was another loud noise, a thud. The doorknob twisted, the door opening a crack, before it jarred to a stop, as though someone were trying to hold it shut. Through the crack, the wailing now formed words.  
  
“-ou can’t, _mon nounours_ , please!” Came a desperate cry. “ _Mon Jean, s'il vous plaît,_ don’t leave me! You would not be so cruel, would you?”  
  
“Gilbert, let _go! You_ made this mess, _you’re_ gonna clean it up!”  
  
“But, John, you can’t expect me to do this all alone!” The pleading tone bordered on a whine, and the response it garnered was a derisive snort.  
  
“Oh yes, I can. You’re only doing this because you can’t hold Herc down, you big baby. Fuckin’ get-- _Ugh!_ You’re gonna make me late!”  
  
There were a few more thuds, and then Laurens was jerking the bedroom door open with a huff, looking a little disheveled and more than a little frustrated. He stomped toward the pair at the entrance, pulling his thick curls up into a ponytail at the nape of his neck as he went. He caught Thomas’ eyes, and said, “Have at ‘em, Jefferson.” There was an affronted cry from the bedroom, but it was ignored. “God knows they deserve it. But try to leave them in one piece, m’kay? I’m a little fond, sometimes. When they’re not acting like a _prat!_ ” He yelled the last bit at the third member of their little group, whom he’d deserted. Then, pouting, he linked arms with Mulligan and dragged him away, slamming the door closed behind them.

For a long moment, Thomas simply stood in the entryway, unsure of how to proceed, uncertain if Mulligan and Laurens would be coming back to save Gilbert. But slowly, his confusion faded and his anger resurfaced, and when it became apparent that the others weren’t returning, Thomas found himself striding toward the bedroom with malicious intent. He pushed the door open to find his sibling sprawled haphazardly across the bed, their face in their palms, and a few pieces of furniture displaced from where they had clearly tried to keep their lovers from leaving. Thomas was _extremely_ unimpressed. “I should throttle you,” he began slowly.

His words were met with a muffled whine as Gilbert momentarily buried their face further into the duvet before finally looking up. “Oh, Thomas, I don’t know why you would want to do that,” they tried, though they knew innocence to be a fruitless play at this point. “Whatever your troubles, I am far from the heart of them!”

“Bullshit!” Thomas snapped, pushing off the door frame, and he watched with twisted satisfaction as Gilbert sat up and leaned away from him. Though their fights had never come to blows, he was almost angry enough for it this time, and Gilbert could tell. Thomas felt as though he’d been manipulated, like his secrets had been betrayed by his own twin, the person who was supposed to be closer to himself than any other. Of course, he’d seen Gilbert pull strings in other people's lives before, but it had never seemed malicious, and it had never affected Thomas, so he hadn’t cared. Now, it _hurt_ . Now, he wondered at his twin, at how lighthearted and free they’d always seemed. He wondered if there was someone more far more sly there that he’d willingly overlooked. The thought was terrifying and painful. “Gilbert, you knew exactly what you were doing! You fucking fed him words, lines to bait me with because I made the _mistake_ of confiding in you!”

Gilbert flinched back as though Thomas had struck them, hurt marring their face. They seemed to curl in on themselves a little, their knees coming up to their chest so they could wrap their arms around them. “It wasn’t a mistake to confide in me!” They protested, but their voice was weak, small, and they seemed to be examining the truth in that statement themselves. Was it a mistake? That night at the bar, when they’d been celebrating that happy first year, and Gilbert had offhandedly commented that Alexander looked ravishing, that they might have flirted had it not been for their newfound fidelity. Thomas had been so quick to respond, out of nowhere, that he wouldn’t stand for himself and his twin to be lusting for the same man, so it was a good thing that Gilbert was happily settled. They’d been stunned, of course, but supportive. They had only ever wanted to help Thomas! For all his big talk, their brother had never been wonderful at wooing, and Gilbert just wanted to make sure he was successful this time, for the sake of Thomas and Alexander both, as they knew their beloved friend felt much the same as their brother.

“Thomas, I was only trying to help! I ha-”

“Trying to _help_ ?” A laugh escaped him, harsh and bitter, and now Gilbert was the one glaring. “You made it seem like he wanted me, maybe even wanted to _be_ with me, and I fell for it! Was this some kind of joke to you?” Thomas didn’t want to believe that. He didn’t think his sibling was cruel, didn’t think they were really _capable_ of cruelty, but…

Gilbert was scrambling to the edge on the bed in a flash. “No, it wasn’t! This is no joke!” They reached out and grabbed Thomas’ arms, steadying themselves as they stood, making sure Thomas didn’t walk away before they had the chance to explain. “You don’t understand, Thomas. I was just trying to help, I swear!” There was disbelief written all over their duplicate’s face, but they pressed onward anyway. “I was surprised when you voiced your attraction to Alexander, but I was not going to make anything of it. I.. I had told _mes amours,_ of course,” They admitted, now somewhat abashed, and Thomas scowled, shoving them away. “No, _listen!_ ” They latched onto Thomas’ arm again. “I told them, only because I cannot keep anything from them. They were the only ones, I swear it, and they said nothing!”

Thomas was the picture of incredulity, but he didn’t respond or shake Gilbert off, so his sibling pressed on. “I had almost forgotten about it, honestly, but then Alex told me that he wanted to learn French, and he seemed rather insistent as well. He had never interested before he heard you, Thomas! Never! So I started teaching him.”

Their brother’s face hardened, his lips curling into a snarl. “You mean that you started trying to embarrass me by telling him that one thing meant another,” he growled.

“No! I was very honest in our lessons! The… misinterpretation… came later.” Gilbert rubbed at the back of their neck, giving a nervous chuckle. Thomas, however, was not laughing. Anger was creeping back into his expression with every beat that passed, and Gilbert hastened to explain. “It was _after_ your fight! I had an entire day off with Hercules and John, you know this doesn’t happen often for us. We had planned to... make the best of it, but Alexander came over, _desperate_ to make amends with you, Thomas. He has no manners, to say the very least.”

But instead of tempering Thomas’ rage as Gilbert had hoped it would, the explanation seemed only to spur it into the realm of icy fury. “And you decided to make a fool of me?” He asked, his voice deceptively soft.

“Thomas, no!” Gilbert cried. “I was… angry, I will admit. But I thought that his feelings for you surely must reflect your own for him, if he would go to such lengths over an argument. I didn’t want to let the opportunity go to waste! I thought for certain that, if you were forced to lay everything out, then perhaps, you would both see. You would both stop being so stubborn, and you would be happy.” They brought a hand up to gently touch Thomas’ cheek. “I only wish for you to be happy, brother.”

But the heartfelt words did not reach him. “You were _wrong_ , Gilbert,” he said, and his twin flinched at the anger in his tone. “I thought he meant it, and he freaked out, and I made an idiot of myself! I-- I hurt him... _God,_ why couldn’t you have just left things alone?” He swatted Gilbert’s hand away from his face, ignoring the wounded look that painted his reflection. “Just do me a favor, and don’t go spilling any other secrets I shared, hmm?” Then he spun on his heel and stormed out.

* * *

 By the time the car had dropped him off in front of the sisters’ apartment, absolutely none of Alexander’s thoughts had been sorted, nor had any of his knotted emotions been untangled. If anything, his stress had only built, compounding upon itself, worry driving him mad. But, he supposed, that was why he was going to see Peggy in the first place. As much as he loved her sisters, Peggy was one of his closest friends and his confidant. Alexander trusted her with things he barely trusted himself with, and this definitely qualified as one of those situations.

He took the stairs two at a time in his haste and didn’t bother knocking when he finally reached the apartment, which seemed to come as no surprise to its occupants, if the immediate, mixed greetings were anything to go by. Angelica hardly glanced up from her textbooks, which littered the coffee table, and Eliza waved from her sprawl on the couch, smiling. Peggy shot him a grin from her place on the floor. “I let them know you were crashing our party,” she explained. Alex only nodded. Apparently, his lack of verbal response was concerning, because in the next second, Eliza was sitting up and Peggy was getting to her feet. “You okay, Xander? You usually spend your weekends in a classroom or locked up in a library, not joining our study jams. Something happen?”

The use of his hated nickname made Alex wrinkle his nose in distaste, some of the tension easing as he scowled at Peggy. “Ew, don’t call me that. And maybe I just wanted to check on my favorite girls, _Margarita,_ did you consider that?” It was a lie, but it was far more comfortable than spouting the truth at the moment. He approached the couch, flopping down next to Eliza and pulling her in to plant a kiss on her cheek. “I just missed my lovers.”

“Alexander, we are not your lovers,” Angelica refuted him from where she still pretended to be absorbed in her books.

Eliza laughed. “Angie’s right. I’m not your lover, Lex, that’s too much commitment. Implies a connection, you know?” He gasped in mock offense. “I’m your wife, that way I can pretend but keep the benefits.”

“Evil. But okay. My wife, then.”

A laugh rang out from Angelica. “Lizzy, you’re gonna regret that,” she teased. All three of them giggled.

Meanwhile, Peggy just stood there and looked on, thoroughly unconvinced. Alexander’s smile fell when he caught sight of her face. She always _had_ been able to see right through him. “Well, Alex, when you’re done marrying my sister, I actually do need to talk to you about something. So you can visit with the sister wives later, ’kay?”

“Aww, Pegs-” Eliza started to protest, but Alex cut her off with a smile.

“If you guys aren’t busy, we’ll all go catch a movie or go dancing some time soon, okay? But let me go see what Peggy needs.” He smiled, but inside he was panicking again as Eliza acquiesced and let Peggy spirit him away to her room for some privacy.

She shut the door softly and turned to go put on some music, just in case anyone got nosy, and despite himself, Alex couldn’t help but relax as the soft crooning of Nat King Cole serenaded him from her record player. He sighed and walked over to her bed, falling back onto it, wishing the duvet would just engulf him so that he’d never have to think about this mess again. He covered his face with his hands and groaned.

“You gonna tell me what had you rushing over on a Saturday, Xan?” Peggy asked quietly, perching next to him on the bed. He groaned again at the name, but wiggled around so that he was closer to her, and dropped his head down into her lap, burrowing into the fabric of her sweatpants. She laughed, and began to stroke through his hair with her fingers. “That bad, huh, babe?”

Alex was silent for a long moment, just enjoying the feeling of Peggy carding through his hair, allowing himself to relax, because he knew that the second he opened his mouth, any chance at relaxation would be lost. But he knew that owed her an explanation, so, he took a deep breath, steeled himself, and said, “Thomas Jefferson kissed me.”

The squeal Peggy released could hardly be described as human, and Alexander cringed, attempting to hide himself from her enthusiasm “Congratulations!” She exclaimed, obviously thrilled, but Alex didn’t respond, curling up into himself a bit and nuzzling her leg. “Wait, that _is_ what you wanted, isn’t it?” She asked, confused. “You had said- _Oh,_ was he a bad kisser, is that what it was? Damn, he looks like he’d know what he’s doing though, what a shame. Sor-”

“No, no, it’s none of that, Peggy!” God, no. It had actually been… Alex felt his cheeks heat up at the memory of Thomas’ lips pressed to his own, and he turned, hiding his face against Peggy’s stomach. Perfect, it had been perfect, and he couldn’t believe he’d pulled away.

There was a brief silence from Peggy, then she spoke again, much more quietly, and her hands were back to gently stroking through his messy hair. “Alex, did you not want him to? Because you know that if he did a single thing you did not want, I will happily hunt him down and rip him limb from limb, my love for his sibling be damned. You know that don’t you, baby? You can tell me.”

“What?” Alexander scrambled to sit up. “No, I didn’t want to kiss him, but- wait, I mean, I _did_ , but that’s not- _Ugh!_ ” He reached up to tug at his hair, frustrated, and Peggy just looked more confused than ever. He didn’t know how to explain what happened. Hell, _he_ barely even knew what happened.

“Lex.” Peggy put her hands over his and gently pulled them from his hair, forcing him to calm down. “Lex, just nod or shake your head, okay?” He took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. Did you want him to kiss you?” He hesitated, but nodded, looking down at his lap. “Did he stop when you said to?” Another nod. “Then do you want to start at the beginning and tell me why this was such a big problem?”

Alex let loose a soft whine, pouting heavily, but the look Peggy gave him told him he didn’t really have a choice and, if he was honest, he did want to talk about it. That was why he had come to her. But, for once, he was having trouble finding the words to explain.

He hesitated, and Peggy just raised a brow at him, waiting. “Fine, _fine_ , but you’re gonna have to make sense of it yourself, because I don’t even know what happened,” he warned. She only nodded, encouraging him to continue.

He sighed and reclined once more, trying to collect his thoughts. “You know how I told you about that argument?” He began after some thought, because that had been where it all started, hadn’t it? This whole awful mess...

“You mean the one where Jefferson called you out for being an uppity little shit and you retaliated by being an asshole?” Peggy asked, but it wasn’t really a question. He glared at her, but nodded.

“Okay, so, he was avoiding me, right? And I… I was harsh. I know that. I wanted to say I was sorry.” But that hadn’t been the whole of it. He’d wanted his apology to really mean something. He’d insulted Thomas’ heritage, so it only made sense to pay a bit of homage to it. And… “I wanted to impress him,” Alex confessed. Wasn’t that the whole reason he’d bothered to try and learn French in the first place?

A small smirk twisted  up the corners of Peggy’s lips, and she shook her head. “So you apologized in _French?_ ” He nodded. “Wow, Xander. You are so far gone, it’s embarrassing. I’m embarrassed by proxy.”

Alex could feel heat flooding his cheeks, and his scowl darkened. “Shut up! Anyway, that’s not the point. I found him, I gave my apology. But he started acting funny the second I started talking.” And that was where his confusion began. “I mean, I expected him to be a little surprised, you know? But he started, like, staring at me, and getting all fidgety. He looked at me like he thought I was crazy.” He couldn’t make sense of it. “And he was so damn quiet! You know as well as I do that Jefferson is never quiet!”

There was a sagely nod from his confidant.

“Then, out of nowhere, he asked me to come back to his apartment so we could ‘talk about it’.” Talk about it? They’d barely talked about anything! Was that some kind of innuendo now? “It was fuckin’ _weird,_ Pegs! He didn’t say anything else until we got to his place, and he was acting all shy and awkward and it was _cute,_ Peggy. He was acting cute! _God!”_ Thomas had never come off as self-conscious, but in those moments, he was almost timid. It was a side of him that Alexander somehow doubted very many people got to see, and - damn it all to hell, he’d gone and blown up on Thomas. The other man had opened up to him, and Alexander had probably forced him to retreat back into his shell. “Damn it, I messed up. He was being all sweet and then he kissed me and I just- I blanked, you know? For a second, I sorta-- I sorta thought I was dreaming.”

Peggy grinned at him, wide and toothy. “Have those kind of dreams often, Xander?”

He absolutely glowered at her, to which she only laughed, and ground out, “I swear to Christ, Margarita, if you’re too busy teasing me to take this seriously, I can and will demote you from best friend status and take this to Laf inst- _Oh!_ ”

It hit him, as soon as the name was out of his mouth. Something he hadn’t caught on to, right before Thomas had kicked him out of the apartment.

* * *

 

_"That’s not true!” He had growled, face red with rage. “I know what I said, I practiced those words at least a dozen times, and Laf taught-”_

_“Of course.” Thomas cut him off, eyes narrowed, his mouth set into a harsh line. “Of fucking course they did.”_

* * *

 

Just moments after, Alexander had been hauled out of the building and told not to contact Thomas again. Through his emotional turmoil, he’d not even processed what Thomas had said, and he hadn’t thought back on it. But that- ‘ _Of fucking course they did,’_ Thomas had said. They’d been discussing his apparently flawed French apology, which meant only one thing. And Alexander wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to be pissed.

“Oh?” Now Peggy was the one confused. “‘Oh’ what? Good ‘oh’? Bad ‘oh’?”

Alex sat up and raked his hands through his hair. “I didn’t fuck up,” he explained. “Or, I did, but it wasn’t my fault this time!” He wanted to laugh, but fought it down. Peggy was still looking bewildered, so he elaborated further on his sudden epiphany. “After we kissed, I kinda blew up, and Thomas said that I propositioned him, right?”

“What the _fuck?_ ”

“That’s what I said! But it wasn’t his fault either, because I think I might have?” He cringed at the thought. Just how blatant had the words been? Or- oh god, what if he’d told Thomas he was in love with him? He felt his face heat at the thought. “Look, I think Laf set us up.”

Understanding dawned on Peggy’s face, and she began to laugh- no, cackle. She was cackling, her head tossed back, her arms wrapped around her torso as if to keep herself from shaking to bits. “This isn’t funny!” He protested, but that did nothing to dissuade her guffaws, and he was forced to wait until her laughter had died off on its own.

“Th-that little- ooh, Alex, I would kill them if I were you!” She gasped out, wiping at her eyes as she tried to catch her breath. “Damn. I wonder what they made you say.” She was shaking her head, still biting back little giggles, and Alex rolled his eyes.

“I have no idea, but whatever it was, it was enough to make Thomas think he was gonna get lucky.” The words were out before he even registered what he said, but he blanched the moment they’d been spoken. Beside him, Peggy quickly fell silent. Alex winced at his own blunt phrasing and looked down at his hands, clenching them into fists.

“Is that what you think it was about, baby?” Peggy asked softly, brushing his hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear.

He frowned. Was it? Had he really even thought about it? “Well, I guess that’s how it seemed,” he answered carefully. “I mean, he was pretty eager… pissed when it didn’t happen. So, I can only assume…” It surprised him a little, the pain that flashed through his chest at the idea of Thomas wanting sex out of him and nothing more. Of course, he was hardly opposed to a physical relationship. Hell, he’d only been fantasizing about it for the past six months or so. No, it was the idea of that being all that bothered him. He didn’t want to be a ‘one-and-done’ for Thomas. And that… that was a revelation.

But Thomas clearly didn’t want anything from him that wasn’t physical. He was on board when Alex’s body was on the table, but after… Alex hung his head, chewing the inside of his cheek. Thomas had said just to stay away. Not to talk to him again. To leave. And if that didn’t speak volumes-

“Stop it.” The unexpected words jerked him from his thoughts, and he looked up at Peggy, questioning. “Whatever it is that you’re thinking, you’re wrong, okay? So stop it.” Her tone was firm, but the hand combing through his hair was gentle, and he blinked at her, frowning, waiting for an explanation.

“Pegs, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Liar,” came the affectionate rebuttal. “Xan, look, you said he was acting shy, right?” Alex nodded. “He was shy and he kissed you. And it was good, wasn’t it? He didn’t push, it wasn’t one of those gross aggressive kisses, right?” Another nod. “Then I think you’re reading this all wrong. I think he got flustered because you wanted to move so fast.” Alex let out a squawk of protest, but she shushed him. “Hey, he said _you_ propositioned _him_. That implies sex, and that you were the one asking for it. Anyway, I think Tommy-boy has a big ol’ crush on you.”

“What?” No, no, that wasn’t the case at all. The way he reacted was proof enough of that. “Peggy, he pretty much told me to fuck off and not come back.”

 She rolled her eyes at him. “He just found out his twin duped him into kissing his crush, how do you think he’s gonna react?”

Alex opened his mouth to dispute that, but he couldn’t. Strangely, it made sense. The way Thomas had suddenly become so closed off, how he’d stormed away, angry and defensive at the mention of his sibling’s name. And, well, he’d kissed Alex, hadn’t he? Gently, patiently, letting him have time to sink into the contact before he had pressed on. Thomas had been more than accommodating, and he seemed to stay that way until he saw that Alexander wasn’t aware of what had really been said. That was _more_ than telling. Cautiously, Alex looked up at Peggy and asked, “You think he’ll be down for another kiss? One that wasn’t instigated by Laf?”

A bright, bubbling laugh was the response he earned. “Go get ‘em, Xan,” she encouraged.

He grinned back and leaned in to give her a quick peck, then swiftly left the room. On his way out of the apartment, he gave Angelica and Eliza each quick farewells, and bolted. He didn’t bother to call a cab this time, welcoming the walk, as it gave him time to organize all the new information he’d just learned. Part of him wanted to find Lafayette and beat them, but the other half almost wanted to kiss them. After all, who knew if he would have seen Thomas’ interest without this intervention? Somewhere along the walk back to Thomas’ apartment, it occurred to him that John and Hercules likely knew as well, but Alexander filed that information away, doing his best not to be angry at them. His reaction toward their conspiracy would depend on the evening's outcome.

It took a good ten to fifteen minutes, but Alexander finally found himself back in front of Thomas’ building, and he let himself in. He knocked on the other man’s door, but received no reply, though he guessed that was to be expected. With a huff, he knocked again. Nothing. Okay, now that was a little frustrating.

The cycle continued for several minutes, followed by Alexander yelling at the apartment’s tenant to let him in, but to no avail. Only then did it occur to him that, perhaps, Thomas hadn’t yet come home.

“Well, fuck,” he breathed. He wanted- _needed_ to talk this out with him. If they didn’t talk about it tonight, Alex just knew he’d mess things up the next time they met. He had to do it that night, before the wounds they’d unknowingly inflicted on each other had anymore time to fester. But he had no idea when Thomas would even be home, and he couldn’t just sit out in the hall! He’d get thrown out of the building! Alexander’s hands slammed into the door one last time, out of frustration, before sliding down, the left catching on the handle as he pulled back to leave.

To his great surprise, the handle gave under the downward momentum of his hand, and the door pushed inward, just barely.

Thomas, in his haste, had left his door unlocked.

Alexander could barely restrain his glee, slipping inside and shutting the door behind him. They’d get this mess sorted out tonight. He wasn’t leaving until they talked, and that was that!

* * *

Thomas didn’t want to think about how long he’d wandered around the campus and surrounding area before he finally began to head back to his apartment. Sure, he’d probably been a bit harsh with Gilbert, and some of the conclusions he’d drawn definitely toed the line with dramatic, but he’d been angry. A sigh tore from him. He’d have to make it up to his sibling, the next day, or the day after, perhaps. After all, he supposed, it wasn’t entirely Gilbert’s fault that Thomas’ feelings were misplaced. It was his own fault for getting his hopes up. After all, he’d known Hamilton would never want him back.

When he reached his apartment, he was ready to collapse. He just wanted to fall into his bed, honestly. Maybe take a nice, long bath to soothe some of the tension from his muscles. But he didn’t want to deal with anything troublesome. He just wanted a quiet, uneventful evening. That’s why he certainly wasn’t expecting to find Alexander Hamilton sprawled out across his sofa, curled up in the throw blanket with his head pillowed on his arm and his mouth open around soft snores.

For a moment, Thomas was frozen. What was- No, how did Hamilton get into his apartment? He’d locked- No, _no, fuck,_ the door! He’d left the door unlocked. God, how could he have been so _careless_ ? Hamilton could have easily just waltzed right back in after he’d left! But why? It didn’t make sense. He’d seemed so perturbed by Thomas’ earlier actions, why would he come back to Thomas’ apartment, where it all happened? Why would he fucking lay down on the couch and _take a nap_?! What was happening? Did he come to gloat, to threaten Thomas with blackmail or a sexual harassment lawsuit?

Embarrassment flooded him and his previous anger was rekindled. He really didn’t need this right now! “Hamilton!” He barked, pushing down the pang that went through his chest when the younger man jerked awake and looked around, bleary eyed and bewildered. “Why the fuck are you in my home?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone want to see the transition between the last two chapters from the POV of the Rev Set? If you do, please let me know in the comments section below!
> 
> Also! We are almost to the end, people! I know I said that a few chapters ago (I am a lying liar that lies) but it's really true this time. One more chapter, maybe an epilogue.
> 
> Please leave comments or kudos, let me know what you think! Also, hit me up on tumblr @synonym--roll because I'd love to hear literally anything you guys have to say!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander forces Thomas to discuss what happened. Things heat up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, my loves! So, I'm finally back, and I'm sorry it's taken me so long. Thank you to the ones who've stuck with me and to any new readers we've picked up along the way! Your support is the only thing keeping this story alive, I swear.
> 
> Chapters 1-6 have been revised and edited, please give them a glance!
> 
> CHECK OUT THE TAGS! There are things in this chapter that could upset some people, and if you are one those people, then you need to stop reading at the first break and skip to the end! I will summarize things in the notes at the end of this chapter. 
> 
> CHECK OUT THE CHAPTER COUNT, Y'ALL! We're almost finished with this installment, though this WILL BE A SERIES. The end is near, lovelies. 
> 
> Please, please, PLEASE DO NOT SKIP THE ENDING NOTES! There will be an important poll, and I need everyone's input, so please comment with your opinion!
> 
> Okay, I've taken up enough of your reading time. Enjoy!

A harsh exclamation jerked Alexander from his dreams, and he sat up abruptly, his legs thrashing against the throw blanket that held him hostage while he tried to gain his bearings. This wasn’t his dorm room. Where was he? He-  _ oh _ . Oh right. Thomas’ apartment.  _ Thomas. _ He’d been waiting for Thomas to come home so they could talk, but Thomas was just taking so long. Alex had just meant to sit down where he could see the door, but… Damn, that meant he’d fallen asleep. He rubbed at his eyes, groaning softly out of both frustration and weariness. “Fuck, what time is it?” How long had he been waiting, to have passed out like that?   
  
There was a strangled noise from the doorway, and the door slammed shut. Alex let his hands drop away from his face, and looked up to meet the enraged expression on Thomas’ own. “What does it matter what time it is?” He asked, and Alexander winced. “I want to know why you’re in my apartment after I told you earlier to get the hell out and leave me alone!”   
  
Usually, Alex would get angry at the way Thomas was raising his voice, and how he was addressing Alexander, but this time he made a concerted effort to push his anger away. He couldn’t afford to turn this into a fight, not before he said his piece and got some answers. He wanted this to end happily, to maybe go somewhere. Alexander cleared his throat, swallowing a bit as he searched for the proper words, before responding with: “You left the door unlocked.”

Immediately, Alexander knew that was the wrong thing to say. Thomas’s features twisted up with anger, his face flushing, and he bared his teeth in a sarcastic sneer. “So leaving my door unlocked gives you the right to just come on in and make yourself at home? Wow, Hamilton, that's just brilliant! A fantastic excuse for trespassing. Now,  _ get out of my apartment!” _ But Thomas made no move toward Alex to force him out, as he'd done that morning. In fact, he seemed to be keeping close to the door, wary of approaching, arms crossed tightly across his chest.

Alexander decided to press this advantage, small though it was. He draped the throw blanket over the back of the couch and sat up a little, letting his feet drop to the floor, but he settled further into the seat, making it clear that he wasn't leaving. “We need to talk,” he said, and he couldn’t help but wince at the phrasing, so similar to before, in the student center. “That's what I came here to do in the first place: Talk to you.”

An almost hurt expression passed over Thomas's face at that, and he looked away from Alex. “We did talk. Just because you didn't say what you thought you did doesn't mean you didn't say it, and the end result was still me telling you to get the hell out after you accused me of assaulting you.”

_ “Assaulting me?” _ Alex was baffled, horrified. “I didn't -”

Thomas's eyes flashed as they met his, outraged, that illusive pain from before now clear on his features, and that was enough to cut Alexander off. “You said I  _ attacked _ you. Attack, assault. Pretty fucking similar, Hamilton.”

A sick feeling settled in Alex's stomach, because he did vaguely recall having said something along those lines. “Thomas, I didn't mean-”

“Then what did you mean?” Thomas demanded, cutting him off. “More importantly, why are you here at all? I don’t want you here, I don’t want to fuckin’ see you. If you wanna file charges, go through an attorney and leave me be.”

“I wanted to talk to you!” Alex could feel his temper rising, his emotions starting to slip beyond his control. “There was so much happening so fast, and I reacted really poorly, but I've got-”

Again, Thomas cut him off. “You've _ got  _ to get out,” he finished for the smaller man, slow and soft, a fierce glare fixed firmly in place. “I'm not gonna be hassled, I'm not gonna be threatened, I'm not gonna be humiliated because of this. So just get out. Now, Hamilton. I'm through discussing it.”

“You're not  _ discussing _ anything, you're throwing a tantrum and refusing to hear me out!” Alex protested.

“There's nothing to hear!” Apparently, his aggravation had caused any sense of wariness to dissipate, and Thomas strode forward, his hands curling into shaking fists at his sides. “You have no right to be here, and I've got nothing left to say to you, so get  _ the fuck  _ out!”

Alexander couldn’t help but snap in response, anger overcoming him. “Maybe you don’t have anything to say, but I do, so shut the fuck up and listen!” He didn’t stand, refusing to be displaced until he’d been heard. “Thomas, I panicked! I didn’t know what was happening or where it had come from, of course I lashed out, but I didn’t mean the shit that I said!” He knew Thomas wouldn’t  _ assault  _ him, the other man had stopped as soon as Alexander had told him to. “I wasn’t expecting you to kiss me, or for it to…” The words trailed off, as Alexander had no way to accurately finish his thought. The kiss was sweet and gentle and near to perfect, and Alexander didn’t know how to tell Thomas that he wanted nothing more than to try it again.

In front of him, Thomas’ face flushed further, and his eyes flashed with something dark, bitter. “I never should have,” he said, and his voice was so quiet, full of so much regret that it made something in Alexander’s chest ache. He could see Thomas’ hands still trembling at his sides, and he yearned to reach out and take hold of them, to hold on until they steadied.

He reached. Thomas jolted backwards before their skin ever made contact, looking at Alexander with wide, frightened eyes, as though Alex had tried to hit him, and didn’t that just fucking  _ hurt?  _ He’d known the situation wasn’t good, but he hadn’t realized Thomas would be so scared of him.

“Do you want an apology?” Thomas croaked out, still sounding so small. It was unlike anything Alexander had ever heard before. He’d never known Thomas could be small or quiet or timid, for how loud and brash he always was, crowing like a rooster and boasting to the world his privilege and his triumph. Now, he didn’t seem so proud at all. Now, he seemed a worry-ridden creature, all his elaborate posturing simply a mask to hide his insecurities. Alexander softened at this new knowledge, the fondness he’d started to feel for Thomas growing.

“Thomas…” He began, reaching out again, but the other man drew back again.

“Do you want an apology, Hamilton?” And now his last name was spit like a curse, the wounded creature retreating back into a hard shell, and Alexander had no idea how to draw him out again. “Because I  _ am  _ sorry. I’m sorry I ever listened to that stupid apology, I’m sorry I invited you back here, and I’m very sorry that I ever touched you. Trust me when I say that I will not be making the same mistake twice.”

Alexander’s chest went tight. Mistake?

* * *

The look of hurt on Hamilton’s face was clear and unexpected, but Thomas could not backtrack now. He could feel panic building up inside him, his stomach at his feet and his heart in his throat. He could barely hear a thing over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears, pulse hammering, and he felt so sick, so dizzy. The room was too hot and too cold and each noise was too loud, but if he didn’t speak, Hamilton would stay. Hamilton couldn’t stay, it would make things worse, Thomas always made things worse. 

“Get out,” he said, as evenly as he possibly could. “Please, just--”

Hamilton stood, finally,  _ finally _ , and for a moment, Thomas thought he might’ve won.

Then Hamilton opened his mouth to speak. “I’m not going anywhere, Thomas.”

Agony ripped through his chest at that, and he couldn’t hold back the panic any longer, the beast escaping it’s tightly locked cage and wreaking havoc on Thomas. He felt tears burning at his eyes, but he fought not to let them fall, and it was just too much all at once. He was overwhelmed with it.

“Why won’t you just  _ go?”  _ He yelled, and Hamilton flinched back, but he didn’t care. “Can’t you see I don’t fucking want you here? Get out! Leave me alone! Terrorize someone else!”

Hamilton opened his mouth to speak, but Thomas kept going. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, can’t you see that? I’m sorry, I told you I was sorry, can’t you just take the apology and go? I didn’t mean to- I would never--”

“Thomas, I know you wouldn’t!” The use of his given name hurt, because weren’t they enemies? Didn’t Hamilton hate him now? What game was he playing? But Hamilton didn’t look like he was playing, kept speaking, kept pushing closer. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me, I didn’t mean that shit, you have to understand that I was  _ scared _ , okay? I thought you knew-- I panicked, and it doesn’t excuse what I said, but that isn’t how I really feel, and you have to trust me on that.”

Trust him?

“I’m not going anywhere, because you want me here.”

No, no he didn’t, but he couldn’t argue, the arguing was too loud, and it  _ hurt. _

“You asked me to come here and talk to you, and I’m not leaving until you let me talk to you. I’ve got so much to say.” Hamilton sat down again. It was quieter now.

Thomas could think again, a little more clearly.

Hamilton patted the seat beside him, flashing Thomas a smile that was surely meant to be disarming, but instead caused him to feel frantic. Hamilton shouldn’t have been smiling. Why was he smiling?

“You’ve gotta leave,” Thomas insisted once again, and his voice sounded slow and thick, even to himself. The words were heavy and tacky, like cold molasses and he felt nauseous at the taste of them, so he tried again. “You’ve gotta leave,” And it was a little faster this time, a little less heavy, so he repeated it again.

* * *

 

“You’ve gotta leave.” The third iteration of this, and Alexander felt himself twitch, agitation building at this repetitive insistance. 

“I’m not leaving!” He pushed back, but Thomas didn’t seem to hear him, only shaking his head and repeating that damned phrase again.

“You’ve gotta leave.”

There was something not right in Thomas’ demeanor, in the rigid way he held himself, eyes cast off just to the left of Alexander at something he couldn’t see. It was upsetting, to say the least.

“Thomas, I’m not leaving. We have to talk about that kiss. You meant it didn’t you?” He needed to know that sex wasn’t the only thing motivating Thomas, wasn’t the only factor behind their kiss. “You meant more than you said.”

But Thomas’ only reaction was that stupid fucking mantra, and Alex wanted to scream.

“Thomas, I’m not going, just listen to m--”

“You’ve gotta leave, you’ve gotta leave! You’ve got--” The words became more frantic, louder. 

“Thomas, stop it, I’m not--”

“--leave, you’ve gotta leave!”

“No, I wo--”

“You’ve  _ gotta leave!” _

Alexander reached out and grabbed Thomas’ hand, and the man’s words ground to a halt. He looked down at Alexander, seemingly a bit dazed, and Alex flashed him a small smile. “I’m not leaving, Thomas,” he murmured, voice soft but firm. “I’m here and I plan on sticking around a while, okay?” He tugged on Thomas’ hands, and the man took a small step forward, then another. Progress.

He rubbed his thumbs over Thomas’ knuckles, waiting for the taller man to speak, watching as the dazed expression receded, and-- oh. Oh,  _ no.  _ Thomas couldn’t have really been that afraid, could he? This hadn’t caused him that much worry, had it? Delayed though his realization was, Alexander was recognizing the signs of an anxiety attack, and-- Fucking hell, he’d been the cause, hadn’t he?

“Thomas?” He asked softly, and he felt Thomas’ fingers twitch in response. “Hey, it’s okay, you know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout, I didn’t realize…” He continued like that, murmuring reassurances and apologies as Thomas slowly grew more steady. Alexander filed the knowledge away: Panic attacks, who would’ve thought? But that didn’t make him think any less of Thomas. If anything, this new information just made him more human, more reachable, and he could feel himself growing more attached.

All of a sudden, though, Thomas was ripping his hands away from Alexander’s and clutching them to his own chest. The pinched, angry look had returned, though a little more weary now. “I don’t need your sympathy, Hamilton,” he bit out, and it sent a flash of pain through Alexander.

“You were having a panic attack,” he stated, though the words were redundant.

Thomas winced, seeming frustrated at the acknowledgement of what had just occurred. “I still don’t want your fuckin’ pity, Hamilton, you shoulda just left.” His drawl was thicker, his voice slower, angrier than before.

“It wasn’t pity,” Alexander argued, though he was careful not to raise his voice. It was closer to empathy, really. God knew he’d had his fair share of attacks after his mother, his cousin, the hurricane.

A bitter, choked laugh bubbled up from Thomas’ chest, painful to hear. “Yeah right! Pity’s exactly what it was. More shit for you to hold over my damn head. Jesus fuckin’ Christ…”

Appalled at the idea, Alexander couldn’t help but raise his voice in protest. “I wouldn’t do that! I’d never--”

“Don’t lie to me! Ain’t that the whole reason you came back, to taunt me with it, to threaten me, blackmail me?” He ran his hands through his hair, mussing it, making him look more frazzled and frantic than he’d already appeared. “Can’t you take a fuckin’ hint? I don’t wanna talk!”

He was running out of options again. Alexander reached for Thomas’ hands, but the man jerked back with a cry of, “Don’t fuckin’ touch me! I’m not gonna have you turn it around on me and say I attacked you again, not this time!”

A pained whine left Alexander. “Thomas, you didn’t attack me! I  _ wanted-- _ ”

“Bullshit!”

Alexander’s frustration boiled over. “God dammit, won’t you just-” But it was clear that Thomas wasn’t going to listen to him, kept shouting over him, and words just weren’t going to work if Thomas wouldn’t listen. Alexander let out a growl of frustration, gritting his teeth, and reached up to yank on Thomas’ lapels. The taller man tumbled down onto the couch beside Alexander, cursing at him, but he ignored it, and clambered over to straddle Thomas’s thighs. He grinned a bit, as that angry drawl stuttered to a stop. Thomas looked up at him with wide, bewildered eyes, and it hit Alexander that Thomas was beautiful.

He’d known Thomas was attractive, of course, had appreciated his physical form and fantasized more than once, but he’d never really thought of Thomas as beautiful. There was just something about the soft vulnerability in Thomas’ face just then, though, that made it impossible to describe him as anything else.

“I want this,” Alexander whispered. Then, before he could lose his nerve, he tangled his fingers in Thomas’ curls, and crushed their lips together, leaving no room for questioning.

A shocked noise from Thomas was muffled by the kiss, quickly lost and discarded as Alexander pressed closer. It was mere seconds before Thomas gave in, his hands coming to rest on Alexander’s hips, gripping tight enough to bruise, though they still shook. He pressed back just as hard, just as firmly, and Alexander couldn’t help but sigh in satisfaction. It wasn’t like their first kiss, sweet and new. This was hard, frantic, an affirmation that this was reality, and that both of them wanted this.

When air became a necessity, Alexander pulled away, smiling brightly, and Thomas just looked so stunned, so sweet. A huff of laughter escaped him, one hand falling from Thomas’s curls to cup the side of his neck. “You’re shaking,  _ querido, _ ” he breathed, watching with satisfaction as the older man flushed and stammered, scrambling for a response. He laughed again, pressed his lips to Thomas’ forehead, and felt the man relax beneath him again.

“Will you listen to me now?”

A tiny, meek nod.

“Good.” Alexander smiled, sat back to watch Thomas’ face. “We misunderstood each other earlier.”

There was a snort from Thomas. “Clearly,” he muttered, but Alexander shushed him.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I panicked, Thomas. Things were so sudden, so unexpected, and I just-- I lashed out. It wasn’t your fault.” Alexander could tell Thomas was beginning to tense up again, so he pushed forward. “You didn’t attack me, you just kissed me, and… well, it was a really good kiss, Thomas.”

They both blushed a bit more at that.

“The thing is, though… You said I propositioned you.”

An embarrassed groan from Thomas.

“Shh, I’m not done. You said I… and the thing is? I’m okay with that. I am.”

“What?” Thomas looked baffled, and maybe a little unhappy at that, his hands dropping from Alexander’s hips. “You want--?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” came the response, coy and unabashed. “Have you seen yourself, Thomas? You’re gorgeous. I’d be an idiot to pass that up.”

“Oh.” The words didn’t seem to reassure Thomas. If anything, he deflated further, frowning deeply.

Frowns weren’t becoming on such a lovely face, Alexander thought, and wished he could remedy it. “But here’s the deal,” he continued. “I don’t just want that. I don’t-- casual is great, and I’ve had flings before, but I don’t think I could just sleep with you and forget about it.” The  admission hurt, but it was freeing as well, and Alexander sighed, relieved. One less secret to carry, really.

From Thomas, a softer, shocked, “ _ Oh..” _

Alexander winced. “So, um. If you want me to go now, I will. I just wanted to… to get that off my chest.”

Thomas said nothing.

“Okay then.” Alexander should've known. Peggy was wrong, it was purely physical. He grimaced and drew back, moving to climb off of Thomas’ lap, cheeks burning with shame--

And then there were hands cradling his face, pulling him in for a soft, tentative kiss, a gentle brush of lips over his own. Alexander melted, sinking back down onto Thomas’ lap and pressing back into the gentle touch.

If he had thought the first kiss had been perfect, Alexander couldn’t have been more wrong.  _ This  _ was perfect, the firm, soft slide of Thomas’ mouth as they moved together, the way his hands cupped his cheeks like he was something precious. This kiss was warm and languid, each of them taking the time to deepen it, to learn, to give and to take. Thomas tasted like the overly sweet coffee he’d been drinking that morning, a touch of cinnamon lingering there, and of vanilla lip balm, and it was  _ decadent.  _ Alexander could have died happily.

Instead, they continued to kiss, breaking off into shorter caresses as they broke apart for air, for a glimpse of each other, but pressed back together, unable to stay away. It wasn’t long before such chaste exchanges weren’t enough for either of them, and Alexander’s hands found their way back into Thomas’ curls, and Thomas’s hands slid back to his waist, both of them pulling at each other, pressing closer, needing more.

A familiar heat began to coil in Alexander’s stomach and he nipped at Thomas’s lips, attempting to convey his point. A soft rumble came from Thomas’ chest and he bit back, suckling on Alexander’s lower lip, leaving it red and swollen by the time Alexander pulled away.

Alexander took deep, steadying breaths, wondering if Thomas wanted this too, as badly as he did. He looked down at the older man, trying to think of something, anything to say, a way to ask, but Thomas beat him to it.

“You’re so beautiful, Alexander,” he murmured, his voice reverent, and it made Alexander shiver. Thomas looked at him with a soft, sweet smile. “I’d love to… I don’t know, to take you out to dinner, or dancing, or just for drinks, but…” His smile shifted into something a little more playful, a little more shy. “But I’m kinda thinkin’ that I’d like to do that another day.”

Alex quirked a brow, and Thomas went red, but stood his ground. “Maybe I’m bein’ forward, but I’d like you to spend the night. If you want. We can order in for dinner, later, but right now-- right now, I really don’t wanna stop.”

A laugh escaped Alexander and he grinned back. “That’s all you had to say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Summary: Thomas comes home to find Alexander in his apartment, sleeping. After waking Alexander and demanding that he leave, a fight ensues, in which Alexander refuses to go, and Thomas has a panic attack. After helping Thomas through his attack, Alexander is told to leave again, but again refuses to go. Ultimately, he kisses Thomas and tells him that he doesn't just want them to sleep together, to which Thomas agrees. They spent some time becoming... acquainted, and Thomas asks Alexander to spend the night.
> 
> Sorry this was so short, you guys.
> 
> POLL TIME: So, y'all can tell what's inevitably coming. This story is gonna earn it's rating. But I need to know what you want, as my readers. 
> 
> Bottom Hamilton or Bottom Jefferson?
> 
> You decide! Let me know in the comments below!


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